The Best Years of Our Lives

Broughton fags for Cunningham, Mayhew’s fag has fled
I don’t fag for either for daddy knows the head
Crabtree runs the prefect’s bath, Dwalish brings him tea
Me, I added to the fun, milk spiced with LSD
Three cheers for Kings and Houghton House
Three more for masters' wives
Another for cold showers
And the best years of our lives
Curfew here is sacrosanct, the town is out of bounds
So keep an eye for Matron returning from her rounds
Chaplain takes confession, he says we’re steeped in sin
The Lower Fourth’s ungodly thoughts bring dribbles to his chin
Who’ll cheer our first eleven and damn the vanquished foe
Why the earnest eager freshmen will, cause we’re too drunk to go