We take off like mice and screaming like children;
Being pushed like a flock of idiotic sheep, every which way.
Being told how and what, being issued miscellaneous essentials,
Only to have them thrown around and trampled by these recruits.
What is happening, I cannot think, what day is it, time?
We're given a white box, our nums nums inside;
It may be plastic or rodent it's rubbery and indigestible;
The desserts not bad, as always, as my body screams for edibles.
I feel my woodlands for the first time, the fresh crisp boots,
As we fill out seabag with tactical goodies it feels so close.
Magazines and canteens galore, what is this stuff for?
Everything has a purpose for now we belong to the corps.
What they say goes, as were packed into a concrete box for an hour or 2;
Or 3... Or 4... 5, 6, 7, 8
What time is it?
