I don't want to join the Army

from WWI, on right, a more polite version

I don't want to join the army, I don't want to go to war, I'd rather hang around Piccadilly underground, Livin' off the earnings of a high born lady I don't want a bayonet up me arse 'ole, I don't want me bullocks shot away, I'd rather stay in England, in merry, merry England, And fornicate me fuckin' life away. 2. On Monday I touched her on the ankle, Tuesday I touched her on her knee, On Wednesday I confess, I lifted up her dress, On Thursday I saw it, gor blimey, On Friday I put me 'and upon it, On Saturday I took her out to tea, On Sunday after supper, I whopped me f**r up her, An' now I'm payin' forty bob a week!

I don't want to join the army, I don't want to go to war. I'd rather hang around Piccadilly underground, Livin' off the earnings of a high-born lady. I don't want a bayonet in my belly, I don't want my bollocks shot away. I'd rather stay in England, in merry merry England, And fornicate this bleeding life away.