Damn I get distracted easilly.

Sing this to the tune of "The Brittish Grenadiers"

Some die of drinking water,
And some of drinking beer,
Some die of constipation,
And some of diarrhea.
But of all the world's diseases,
There's none that can compare,
With the drip, drip, drip of the septic prick
Of a British Grenadier

When he goes forth in battle,
His weapon in his hand,
The lasses fall like cattle,
There's none can make a stand.
But when the campaign's over,
It's then he feels so queer,
With the drip, drip, drip of the septic prick
Of a British Grenadier

And when he does retire,
To take his well-earned rest,
There burns an ancient fire,
To do what he does best.
And yet, the truth is bitter,
There's one thing ladies fear,
It's the drip, drip, drip of the septic prick
Of a British Grenadier.

I like the girls who say they will,
And I like the girls who won't.
I hate the girls who say they will,
And then they say they won't.
But of all the girls I like the best,
I may be wrong or right,
Are the girls who say they never will,
But look as though they might.