HOW I HATE TO GET UP IN THE MORNING
OH, HOW I HATE TO
GET UP IN THE MORNING 1918
I’VE BEEN A SOLDIER QUITE A WHILE
AND I WOULD LIKE TO STATE,
THE LIFE IS SIMPLY WONDERFUL,
THE ARMY FOOD IS GREAT.
I SLEEP WITH NINETY-SEVEN OTHERS
IN A WOODEN HUT.
I LOVE THEM ALL. THEY ALL LOVE ME.
IT’S VERY LOVELY, BUT —
CHORUS
OH, HOW I HATE TO GET UP
IN THE MORNING.
OH, HOW I’D LOVE TO REMAIN IN BED.
FOR THE HARDEST BLOW OF ALL
IS TO HEAR THE BUGLER CALL,
“YA GOTTA GET UP, YA GOTTA GET UP,
YA GOTTA GET UP THIS MORNING.”
SOMEDAY I’M GOING TO
MURDER THE BUGLER;
SOMEDAY THEY’RE GOING
TO FIND HIM DEAD.
I’LL AMPUTATE HIS REVILLE,
AND STEP UPON IT HEAVILY,
AND SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE IN BED.
REPEAT CHORUS
SOMEDAY I’M GOING TO
MURDER THE BUGLER;
SOMEDAY THEY’RE GOING
TO FIND HIM DEAD.
AND THEN I’LL GET THE DIRTY PUP,
THE GUY WHO WAKES THE BUGLER UP,
AND SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE IN BED.
