I think that I shall never see,
A drum corps as it used to be.
Where fun and spirit filled the stands,
Instead of DCI marching bands.
When lines were straightened by design,
Else you found a boot in your behind.
And symmetry revealed the skill.
Of poor kids with naught but will.
When heads and bodies marched as one
Instead of playing on the run.
When competition wouldn't yield,
You kicked their #### off the field.
We had practice; they "rehearse";
We got better; they get worse.
Country & flag: not to despise;
Close order drill, NOT jazzercise.
Flamacues and padaflafla's
Military bearing; not tights with no bras.
Bugles in the key of G
Not saxophones nor calliope.
Not semi-vans, just an old bread truck,
And we could tell our foes, "YOU SUCK!"
When judges ticked to seal your fate,
Not conductors who "adjudicate."
American flag, and proper guards!
Not sidelines looking like junk yards.
Drums rest on legs, like times of old.
And drum majors didn't need a scaffold.
A little effort to raise the knee
Was worth the crowds that came to see
and shout and holler with a beer -
But now, "Be quiet, so we can hear!"
Stadiums are not symphony halls,
And "forte" notes do not have balls!
B-flat major? Gimme a break!
"Blow in plumbing, music make!"
Start on the left; end on the right -
Blow your brains out with all your might!
Athletic "sport?" - no freakin' way -
That's why baseball's here to stay.
And so, my friend, you understand
Why drum corps are nothing more than bands.
That take the best and then corrupt it.
So join an alumni corps and just say, "f____ it."
