RSM's Parade

It's the RSM runs the regiment
In spite of what the Colonel says
He just puts up with the Ruperts
And their Ruperts' fancy ways

He was grizzled and grey.
Of indeterminate age
Ramrod tall and erect
And quivering with rage.
Apparently my appearance,
My just by being there
Had defiled the sanctity of
His sacred drill square.
He wondered out loud
Just where there could be
In existence such a place that
Grew things like me.
I was filthy, I was gungy
I was idle, I was worse
But never once in his tirade
Did he swear or curse.
I stood there and quivered
Wishing he was gone.
One last dirty look
and the he moved on:
Moved to the bloke on my right
The next one in line
Whose appearance, apparently
Was as evil as mine.
It's of such things as this
Are memories made,
Being beasted by the Boss
On RSM's Parade.

It's the RSM runs the Regiment
And if he gets to know your name
Life can be a little stressful
In the barmy army game.

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RSM`s Parade

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