At home, he drove a taxi,
A job he'd now disdain;
He's learning (on a queer machine)
To drive an aeroplane.
It doesn't fly--it glumps along
And bumps him, ev'ry chance;
His tumbling, rumbling "Penguin"
Out there--Somewhere in France.
It isn'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.