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 does n't fly — it glumps along

And bumps him, ev'ry chance;

His tumbling, rumbling “Penguin”

Out there — Somewhere in France.

It is n'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.