The Reg'Lar Army Man

He ain't no gold-laced "Belvidere," Ter sparkle in the sun; He do'n't parade with gay cockade, And posies in his gun; He ain't no "pretty soldier boy," So lovely, spick and span,-- He wears a crust of tan and dust, The Reg'lar Army man; The marchin', parchin', Pipe-clay starchin', Reg'lar Army man.

He ain't at home in Sunday-school, Nor yet a social tea, And on the day he gets his pay He's apt to spend it free; He ain't no temp'rance advocate, He likes ter fill the "can," He's kind er rough, and maybe, tough, The Reg'lar Army man; The r'arin', tearin', Sometimes swearin', Reg'lar Army man.

No State'll call him "noble son," He ain't no ladies' pet, But, let a row start anyhow, They'll send for him, you bet! He "do'n't cut any ice" at all In Fash'n's social plan,-- He gits the job ter face a mob, The Reg'lar Army man; The millin', drilling Made fer killin', Reg'lar Army man.

ter war."]

They ain't no tears shed over him When he goes off ter war, He gits no speech nor prayerful "preach" From mayor or governor; He packs his little knapsack up And trots off in the van, Ter start the fight and start it right, The Reg'lar Army man; The rattlin', battlin', Colt or Gatlin', Reg'lar Army man.

He makes no fuss about the job, He do'n't talk big or brave,-- He knows he's in ter fight and win, Or help fill up a grave; He ain't no "Mama's darlin'," but He does the best he can, And he's the chap that wins the scrap, The Reg'lar Army man; The dandy, handy, Cool and sandy, Reg'lar Army man.

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