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“Bombed Last Night”: Singing at the Front in World War I
For soldiers in World War I, as in other wars, songs provided diversion and expression of common sentiments. Four song lyrics included here recorded soldiers’ responses, both to the new horrors of modern warfare and to the more general disillusion of men in combat. “Bombed Last Night” uses gallows humor to tame the dread of poison gas. “A Poor Aviator Lay Dying” uses the same kind of morbid humor to portray an aviator entangled with his plane, gallantly pleading for his comrades to salvage the parts, rebuild the engine, and keep on fighting. The lyrics to “Sittin’ in De Cotton” and “Tell Me Now” expressed, in the ostensible dialect of the southern African American, the widely shared sentiment of the soldier—the disillusion with war and will to survive.
BOMBED LAST NIGHT
Bombed last night, Bombed the night be-fore
Gonna get bombed tonight if we never get bombed any more.
When we’re bombed, we’re scared as we can be.
Oh God damnn the bombin' planes from Germany.
They’re over us, they’re over us,
One shell-hole for the four of us
Glory be to God there are no more of us
'Cause one of us could fill it all alone.
Gassed last night—gassed the night before,
Gonna get gassed again if we never git gassed no more,
When we’re gassed, we’re as sick as we can be,
'Cause phosgene and mustard gas is too much for me.
A POOR AVIATOR LAY DYING
A poor aviator lay dying.
At the end of a bright summer’s day.
His comrades had gathered about him.
To carry his fragments away.
The airplane was piled on his wishbone,
His Hotchkiss was wrapped round his head;
He wore a spark-plug on each elbow,
'Twas plain he would shortly be dead.
He spit out a valve and a gasket,
And stirred in the sump where he lay,
And then to his wondering comrades,
These brave parting words he did say: Extract from my liver the crankshaft, There are lots of good parts in this wreck. Take the piston rods out of my kidneys, And assemble the engine again." SITTIN' IN DE COTTON When de cannon balls a singin' and de mustard gas is low If I sholey had my ruthers Alabama’s where I’d go. Sittin' in de cotton where you won’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa. When I thinks ‘bout de doctors clippin’ off a laig 'er two, I’d like to tell dose drafters at de Court House what to do. Sittin' in de cotton where you won’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa. Oh, de States is full o’people tellin' how de war is fit, But when hit comes to fightin', never fit a single bit. Sittin' in de cotton where you won’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa. Oh, we eats our mess and wonder ef it’s meant fur men 'er hogs, An' when Hiney shoots a bender, we lays down and dies like dogs. Sittin' in de cotton where you won’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa Sittin in de cotton where you don’t give a damn, Singin' whoa buck, whoa buck, whoa whoa. TELL ME NOW I don’t know why I went to war Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know why I went to war or what dese folks are fightin' for, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know what my brown’s a doin' Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know what my brown’s a doin', With all dose bucks around a wooin', Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know why I totes dis gun, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know why I totes did gun, ‘Cause I ain’t got nothin’ 'gainst de Hun, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know why we feeds so pore, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know why we feeds so pore, When de officer men eats so awful much more, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know if I’ll ever git back, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I don’t know if I’ll ever git back, 'Cause de voodoo’s sure God on my track, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I hopes dey surely is a God, Tell me, oh, tell me now. I hopes dey surely is a God, When de grave-digger slaps me in de face wid de sod, Tell me, oh, tell me now. Source: John J. “Jack” Niles, Douglas S. “Doug” Moore, A. A. “Wally” Wallgreen,The Songs My Mother Never Taught Me, (New York: Gold Label Books, Inc., 1929), pp. 43–46, 141–143, 200–203, 209–211. See Also:"His Car Is His Pride": Ode to a World War I Ambulance
"This Is How It Was": An American Nurse in France During World War I
Gas and Flame in World War I: The New Weapons of Terror
Hot Chocolate: A World War I "Canteen Girl" Writes Home
"No Negroes Allowed": Segregation at the Front in World War I