“When I served with the Paras.”
Is a tale that I tell,
“One bad thing about it”
I say, “was the smell.”

No offence to the Paras,
They are braver than I.
With ‘milling’ and boxing,
And jumps from the sky.

But I served with the Paras
As part of their crew,
At a place called Muharraq,
With a tough job to do.

From this camp of 3 Para,
With marquees forlorn,
Were sent covert patrols,
Out of base, before dawn.

Now me and those Paras,
In a modified truck,
Knew the risks and the hazards,
And we trusted to luck.

Yes I went with those Paras,
But ‘twas not on a raid.
‘Twas the shit-bucket crew,
On defaulters parade.

And I worked with the Paras,
To atone for my breach,
Emptying buckets of poo,
Down at Muharraq beach.

So don’t mess with the Paras.
A wise maxim, I think.
For a Para battalion,
Sure can kick up a stink.