The "Roulette of Life" is spinning so fast,
The "red ball of Death" must drop in at last;
Which numbers will win, which numbers will lose,
The "odds" or the "evens," the "reds" or the "blues"?
Yet Hope is the "Banker" and He will repay
The chances that Conscripts must take in the fray;
And Fate's a Good sport, when "dealing the cards,"
He'll give "Fifty-fifty" to Conscript for odds.
THE SLACKER
Why don't he volunteer to serve
In Uncle Sammy's grand reserve?
He knows quite well his country's call;
Has no regard for this, at all.
He never thinks to do his part,
Because he has a Slacker's heart.
He walks along the street quite spry--
To feign indifference he must try,
When suddenly he takes affright,
It's just a picture (what a sight)
Of Uncle Sam with pointing finger.
Take it from me! He doesn't linger.
"Why don't you do it? do it quick!"
The Slacker's skull is very thick.
It never penetrates the gray,
What Uncle Sammy, has to say.
"I want you NOW!" Oh, what a Mutt.
The words fall on a brainless nut.
He lied on registration day--
Conscription's law he'll not obey.
He seeks the nuptial vows to take,
Or any other useless fake.
Whatever else, he'll never fight.
He has the Slacker's ear-marks right.
Oh, what a useless, shameless pest,
A blot on human kind at best.
His feelings are for SELF alone.
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