I don't want to join the army
I don't want to go to war
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground
Living of the earnings of a high class lady
I don't want a bayonet up me arsehole
I don't want me bollocks shot away
I'd rather be in England
Merry merry England
And fornicate my fuckin' life away (cor blimey)

Monday I touched her on the ankle
Tuesday I touched her on the knee
On Wednesday I confess I lifted up her dress
On Thursday I saw it (cor blimey)
Friday I put my hand upon it
Saturday she gave my balls a twist
And Sunday after supper I rammed me fucker up her
And now I'm paying seven and six a week (cor blimey)

I don't want to join the Navy.
I don't want to go to sea.
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,
Living on the earnings of a high born lady.
I don't need no Frenchy women,
London's full of girls I never had.
I want to stay in Blighty, Lord Gawd Almighty,
Following in the footsteps of me dad.

Alternative version:

I don't want to be a soldier

Oh, I don't want to be a soldier,
I don't want to join the fightin' class,
I just want to go,
Down to old Soho,
Pinchin' all the girlies in the shoulder blades.

Oh, I don't want to see the Queen's dominions,
Why -London's- full o' girls I've never 'ad,
I just want to stay in England,
Merry merry England,
And follow in the footsteps of me dad.

So call out the members of the Queen's Marines,
Call out the King's Artillery,
Call out me mother,
Me sister and me brother,
But for Chrissake don't call me.

Monday night me 'and was on her ankle,
Tuesday night me 'and was on her knees,
Wednesday night, success!
I lifted up her dress,
Thursday night I lifted up her silk chemise.

Well, Friday night I got me 'and upon it,
Saturday night I gave it just a tweak,
Sunday after supper,
I finally got in up her,
And now I'm payin' seven and six a week (Gorblimey...)

Call out the members of the Queen's Marines,
Call out the King's Artillery,
Call out me mother,
Me sister and me brother,
But for Chrissake don't call me

Oh, I don't want to join the Navy,
And I don't want to go to war,
I just want to 'ang around,
Piccadilly underground,
Livin' off the earnings of an 'igh-class lady.

I don't want a bullet up me backside,
An' I don't want me knockers shot away,
I just want to stay in England,
Merry merry England,
And fornicate me bloomin' life away!

So call out the members of the Queen's Marines,
Call out the King's Artillery,
Call out me mother,
Me sister and me brother,
But for Chrissake don't call me!!

Another alternative version:

As sung by the officers of the 2nd Battallion 19th U.S. Infantry Regiment (Korea 1957)

Call out the army and the navy
Call out the rank and the file
Call out the bloody territorials,
They'll face danger with a smile,
Oh Blimey!

Call out the soldiers of the Queen's Marines!
Call out the King's artillery!
Call out me mother, me sister and me brother,
BUT FOR GOD SAKE DON' T CALL ME!

Thanks to Bridget MCNamara for sending this in