LAST LONG MILE, THE
(Emil Breitenfield 1917)

as recorded by Charles Hart
& The Shannon Four
1918


Oh, they put me in the Army 
And they handed me a pack,
They took away my nice new clothes
And dolled me up in tack.
They marched me twenty miles a day
To fit me for the war;
I didn't mind the first nineteen,
But the last one made me sore! 
 
Oh, it's not the pack 
That you carry on your back, 
Nor the Springfield on your shoulder. 
Nor the five inch crust 
Of Clinton County dust 
That makes you feel your limbs are growing older.
And it's not the hike 
On the hard turnpike
That wipes away your smile, 
Nor the socks of sisters 
That raise the blooming blisters, 
It's the last long mile! 
 
Some day they'll send us over 
And they'll put us in the trench, 
Taking pop shots at the Fritz’s 
With the Tommy’s and the French. 
And someday we'll be marching 
Through a town across the Rhine, 
And then, you bet, we'll all forget 
These mournful words of mine! 
 
Oh, it's not the pack 
That you carry on your back, 
Nor the Springfield on your shoulder. 
Nor the five inch crust 
Of Clinton County dust 
That makes you feel your limbs are growing older.
And it's not the hike 
On the hard turnpike
That wipes away your smile, 
Nor the socks of sisters 
That raise the blooming blisters, 
It's the last long mile! 
 
Oh, it's not the pack 
That you carry on your back, 
Nor the Springfield on your shoulder.
Nor the five inch crust Of Clinton County dust 
That makes you feel your limbs are growing older.
And it's not the hike 
On the hard turnpike
TThat wipes away your smile, 
Nor the socks of sisters 
That raise the blooming blisters, 
It's the last long mile!



(Transcribed by Peter Akers - January 2016)