When this lousy war is over, no more soldiering for me,
When I get my civvy clothes on, oh how happy I shall be.
No more church parades on Sunday, no more putting in for leave,
I will miss the Sergeant-Major,
How he’ll miss me how he’ll grieve.

No more standing to in trenches,
Only one more church parade,
No more NCOs to curse us,
No more tickler’s marmalade.

When this lousy war is over,
No more soldiering for me,
When I get my civvy clothes on,
Oh how happy I shall be.
People said when we enlisted,
Fame and medals we would win,
But the fame is in the guardroom,
And those medals made of tin.

When this lousy war is over,
No more soldiering for me,
When I get my civvy clothes on
Oh how happy I shall be.