Oh! How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning
Irving Berlin

The other day I chanced to meet a soldier friend of mine
He'd been in camp for sev'ral weeks and he was looking fine
His muscles had developed and his cheeks were rosy red
I asked him how he liked the life and this is what he said:

Oh! How I hate to get up in the morning
Oh! How I'd love to remain in bed

For the hardest blow of all
Is to hear the bugler call
You've got to get up
You've got to get up
You've got to get up this morning

Someday I'm going to murder the bugler
Someday they're going to find him dead

I'll amputate his reveille
And step upon it heavily
And spend the rest of my life in bed

A bugler in the army is the luckiest of men
He wakes the boys at five and then goes back to bed again
He doesn't have to blow again until the afternoon
If ev'rything goes well with me I'll be a bugler soon