Tiddly Jack

There's mismusters, slop chits, tot time and pay
There's rising and shining and hitting the hay

There's thickers and strongers and neaters as well
There's DQ's and chokey and the tiller flat cell

There's aft and there's for'ard, abeam and abaft
To civvies this cackle seems awfully daft

But to us in the Andrew it doesn't seem strange
Like the draft chits the Jossman can always arrange

We're always being seen off and getting green rubs
And chasing up rubbers and looking for subs

And going ashore like a great herd of cattle
And getting filled in and put in the rattle

There's runs out to Honkers that to Jack are just fine
There's times when we say "Oh roll on my nine"

And when nine comes and we're out on the dole
In old civvy street, where we don't know a soul

We think of the good times and wish we were back
In bells, silk and lanyard... A real tiddly Jack!