Well, I've got a farce here
A non-marcher
Not an exciting place.
Though I'm the director
I will not make you play.

No need for screaming, hey hey
Hey hey hey hey hey
I'll make the band listen
To what I have to say.

Well, take out the drill sheet
It won't kill ya
There's nothing there to hate.
For what will divide you?
only the fifty-yard line.

You're more than a child, hey hey,
Hey hey hey hey hey
Ignore the girl at the end of the serenade.

No eyeful, she's no eyeful.
Grab your rifle, that's right.
Inspire, do not desire.
Shots, bells, and rimshots will ring out on Friday night.

You're an oboe, not a hobo,
Don't wander around the field.
In times like this, it's a weakness to love.

Where's the drill captain? Hey hey,
Hey hey hey hey hey
Ignore the lover that you've been dreaming of.

Well, it's time to stand up
Can't make it up, cocktails on the way.
You thought you were a write-off,
You'd better think again.

Call up the color guard, hey hey
Hey hey hey hey hey
You're growing up, what you thought was now is then.

Well, I'm the director, no protector
So you're on your own, you're the color guard.
Save your Valentines, don't think about her.

I'll call out the measure, hey hey
Hey hey hey hey hey
Hang out with the trumpet after she's played.