A Christmas Song - Ian Anderson

From playing fields to killing fields: just one small step of madness

Officer training, uniform, boys together shower together

Rank and file can be just fine but that’s not what we’re here for

So, sign upon the dotted line, be commissioned, Hell for leather

How we sang that old school song, from Pirates of Penzance

Foemen bearing steel, we slapped our chests and raised our voices

No mad poets we, or painters twee but young men with a yearning

To flex our might for all that’s right when face with moral choices

Wrapped in the old school song, we fly our colours high

Bravo!

The old school song!

Harsh reality, by and by

Dad delivered us from the Hun and we reflect his selfless deed

On this desert plain of conflict where special forces, choppers need

Fly-boy coming to collect you, lift you up and then protect you

Be this gung or be this ho, may glorious battle resurrect you

Wrapped in the old school song, we fly our colours high

Bravo!

The old school song!

Harsh reality, by and by