Part 1 — ARMA FEMINAMQUE
Reading edition
No man would doubt a woman's nerve, We know you're brave enough; You put a man to shame at times, You're tender—and you're tough. And yet I feel, with all your grit And talk of cave-men stuff, That you're sorter out of place When I'm twistin' up my face, A-thrustin' and a-jabbin' with my gun-knife. There's some things in this queer old world That's awkward things to see, They can't be tied with ribbon And they can't be served with tea. They're not the least bit sociable And women—as for me, I wish you'd stay away, While I'm training for the day That I'm goin' to get in action with a gun-knife. This ain't no country club affair Of smiles and clever skill; There ain't no silver cups around When doughboys train to kill. It's you or me—and do it quick, A simple murder drill. So I want no women 'round, When I'm tearin' up the ground, A shadow-pointin' Boches with my gun-knife.
