The Penguin Driver

At home, he drove a taxi, A job he'd now disdain; He's learning (on a queer machine) To drive an aeroplane. It doesn't fly--it glumps along And bumps him, ev'ry chance; His tumbling, rumbling "Penguin" Out there--Somewhere in France.

It isn't fun to drive it, But he's not out for fun; He's going to learn to drop good bombs Upon the no-good Hun! And so, until he graduates, He makes his Penguin prance-- His bumping, jumping Penguin Out there--Somewhere in France.

As soon as he's a pilot, (And earned his Golden Wings) He'll take the air on high, you bet And do some bully things! The Prussians will be sorry He ever learned to dance With a rearing, tearing Penguin Out there--Somewhere in France.