Sunday Kipling

Have you seen what this administration did to our vets at the WWII and Iwo Jima memorials? I sure did and I suspect your reaction was much like my own. Stark, red faced anger. Too far, they've gone too far. Such juvenile reactions. Reminds me of a toddler throwing a tantrum who badly needs his bottom swatted.

This is, in my opinion, one of Kipling's best. It so clearly encompasses how we are viewed by the current occupant of the Whitehouse. Well I have one thing to pass along to the President and, seeing as how the intelligence organs are vacuuming up every scrap of information we receive or generate, I'm confident someone in the government will see it.

NO. I will not be treated this way. I will not tolerate my brothers and sisters being treated this way. Tread lightly because the very people you insult and illegally ban from public parks and memorials have not an ounce of backup in them and I do most certainly count myself as among their membership. Bad dog, no biscuit.
Six

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
    O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
    But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins 

    to play,
    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
    O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins 

    to play.
 
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! 

they'll shove me in the stalls!
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

    "Tommy, wait outside";
    But it's "Special train for Atkins" 

    when the trooper's on the tide,
    The troopship's on the tide, my boys, 

    the troopship's on the tide,
    O it's "Special train for Atkins" 

    when the trooper's on the tide.
 
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
    Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 

    an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
    But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" 

    when the drums begin to roll,
    The drums begin to roll, my boys, 

    the drums begin to roll,
    O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" 

    when the drums begin to roll.
 
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
    While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 

    an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
    But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", 

    when there's trouble in the wind,
    There's trouble in the wind, my boys, 

    there's trouble in the wind,
    O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", 

    when there's trouble in the wind.
 
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 

    an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
    But it's "Saviour of 'is country" 

    when the guns begin to shoot;
    An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, 

    an' anything you please;
    An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool  

    you bet that Tommy sees!