Welcome to the Army Rumour Service, ARRSE

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial military website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. Oh they're wearing fancy poppies, as they're lined-up in the Mall
    But they're no-good, thieving bastards, rotten cowards one and all
    Rotten cowards one and all, me lads, rotten cowards one and all
    And they're wearing solemn faces, as they're standing in the Mall.

    And you'd think that they was 'oly, with their kissers all turned down
    And a look so bleedin' pious you'd think the angels 'ad come down,
    the angels 'ad come down, me lads, the angels 'ad come down
    And blessed 'em all, for bein' such a sorry bunch of clowns.
    A sorry bunch of clowns me lads, all standin' in a row.
    Got-up like tailors' dummies, the lowest of the low.

    They do this once a year, me lads, the flags and all the tears
    But we live with their rottenness, for years and bloody years.

    Was the improvised explosive, done the damage to the lads
    And they might have fared right better had they been in armoured cabs,
    But they never spent the money, so the lads all 'ad it rough
    While Bobby Bleedin' Ainsworth, 'ad is nose stuck in the trough,
    'is nose stuck in the trough, me lads, 'is nose stuck in the trough.
    'E 'ad 'is fingers in our pockets, an' 'is nose stuck in the trough.

    Some is living in an 'ostel, some is livin' on the street
    There's some 'as got no ears, no eyes, and some 'as got no feet.
    And some 'as got no feet me lads, and some 'as got no feet.
    Oh, it's hard to go a-marching, when you hasn't got no feet.

    And some 'as melted faces, make the children look away,
    Make their wives and girlfriends shudder, though they'd never like to say
    That there's worser things than dyin', like comin 'ome this way.
    They can do wonders, now, with plastic
    Or so the doctors say.

    And some is off on jailhouse leave, and can't be here today,
    The Judge, y'see, he banged 'im up for ever and a day.
    'E banged 'im up for fightin; but that's what soldiers do
    And when he's got no war to fight, 'e 'as trouble getting through
    Trouble getting' through, me lads, when all the shootin' stops
    And no-one wants to know 'im, just the prisons and the cops
    The prisons and the cops, me lads, stick in a soldier's craw
    Cos those what sent 'im killin' is far beyond the law.

    If I but stole a fiver, now, from comrade next to me
    I'd be on charges, sharpish, there, for everyone to see
    They'll never get their collars felt, however much they steal
    It's like that Alan Duncan said, a splendid f**king deal.
    They write the rules, then break 'em, say they didn't understand.
    They're shitting in our faces, up an down the bleedin' land
    Shittin' in our faces, just as hard as e'er they can.

    Pissin' in our pockets and spitting in our eyes
    And travellin' on the gravytrain to the house of bleedin' lies.
    An Armistice, all of their own, and no-one got no blame
    They just paid a few shillings back and carried on the same.
    Carried on the same, me lads, for now and evermore
    Stuffed like pigs and drunk with power, while we go off to war.

    The members and right honourables know only how to lie
    And cheat and steal and fornicate, whilst we march off to die
    In some benighted wogland, some jungle, veldt or bush
    Or in the hills and mountains of the Hindu bleedin' Kush
    The Hindu bleedin' Kush, me lads, you'd think they'd understand
    That the killing fields of Afghannystan are No Man's Bleedin' Land.
    No Man's Bleedin' Land, me boys, and it was ever thus
    They shoot from caves and run away, in the Hindu bleedin Kush.

    There's Charlie in 'is medals, heir to the bleedin' throne,
    The one what we're out fightin' for, while he's sitting safe at home.
    E'll 'ave yer Mrs, like as not, you give 'im 'alf a chance
    He just takes what he wants, you see, it only takes a glance
    For he is true nobility, the country's pride and joy
    Whilst we are noble savages, cannon fodder to deploy.
    They'll send us up to fiery death, and out in unsafe trucks
    And when we're blown to Kingdom Come, why, no-one gives a f**k.

    But when we come in sixes, with coffins draped in flags
    They look a bit embarrassed, like, they're just a bunch of slags
    Just a bunch of slags, me lads, all standin' ramrod straight
    They'll smile and say So sorry, just a simple twist of fate
    I would have gone myself, you know, but I'm important here,
    We also serve, we lousy pricks, who only stand and wait.

    You can put your bleedin' poppies where the Sun don't never shine
    For hypocrisy's your only creed, you ain't no friend of mine
    You ain't no friend of no-one's, if the truth was only told
    To the boys you send to bleed and die and never to grow old.
    It wouldn't do for your sons, all to the manner born
    To die alone in foreign fields, forgotten and forlorn
    To die alone in foreign fields, forgotten and forlorn
    That's the stuff for me and mine, our bodies ripped and torn.

    So you can put your bleedin' poppies where the monkey put his nuts
    The only thing we've seen from you is cuts and bleedin' cuts'
    And some ain't got no bullets and some ain't got no boots
    And some are boys of seventeen, just bleedin' young recruits
    Bleeding young recruits, me lads, all blown to smithereens,
    They never saw their twenty-first, they never left their teens.

    See, they're only paper flowers and you're only paper men
    And if the call to valour came you'd cut and run again.
    But paper flowers, that's the thing, to show you are sincere
    And shiny shoes an' overcoats, that's why you're standin' ere.
    We're soldiers of the Queen me lads, and not this sorry bunch
    Who steal their houses, dodge their tax and steal their bleedin' lunch
    They're one step down from parasite, a squalid learning curve
    Lets hope before they meet their end, they get what they deserve.

    Oh they're wearing fancy poppies, as they're lined-up in the Mall
    But they're no-good, thieving bastards, rotten cowards one and all
    Rotten cowards one and all, lads, rotten cowards one and all
    And they're wearing solemn faces, as they're standing in the Mall.

  2. Purple_Flash

    Purple_Flash War Hero Moderator

    Whilst I like much of the sentiment of the 'after Kipling' above, I will not stand for denigration of 'Charlie'; he may not have fought since battles were few and far between when when he was serving in the Andrew. However, he will, one day, be monarch and thus the one to whom our Oath of Obedience devolves. His medals are courtesy of Her Majesty who gives or does not give any of us the right to wear them in her realm. If she has granted him or any others of the Royal Family the right, I will defend that right. She will, no doubt, have made her views on relationships outside of marriage known. If she can reduce Generals to quivering lumps, she can do much the same and worse to her offspring.

    She, alone, is the temporal fons honorum that I have sworn to serve.

    That paragraph is uncalled for since he has served whilst the vast majority of politicians it pillories has not.
  3. Good poem though!
    • Like Like x 1
  4. On the subject of poppies I'm at university on wednesday evenings doing a features writing class and the good news is I'm the only bloke in the class apart from the tutor . The bad news is that I'm the only hetrosexual :x

    Anyway the conversation got round to white poppies and I made the point that the money for them goes to conchie pacifist scum . Apparently the munting carpet munchers thought that was a better use of money than the money from red poppies going to the Haig fund

    Gawd some people :x
  5. I read somewhere, may have been on ARRSE, that the Peace Pledge bods lose money on the white poppies, as they cost over £1 a go to make. If that is the case, maybe we should all buy one for, say 50p! :D
  6. :lol:

    I'll remember that for next year
  7. Universities are hotspots for pacifist, socialist, marxist, tree hugging c*nts. It doesn't suprise me.
  8. Gremlin

    Gremlin LE Good Egg (charities)

    I presume that whomever wrote this pile of utter garbage couldn't manage to get 'Whitehall' to scan then?
  9. Why is this in Current affairs? It should be in the NAAFI where i could give it the treatment it deserves. Feckin' pish! Send it to the Current Bun.... they'll love it.

    5 chuffin' minutes of me life i won't get back again! :x
  10. Derivative.

    Also utter pish.

  11. Quality line Harareboy, hope you don't mind me stealing it for my signature box?!