BFB, BFB, BFB, Mamma Jane, BFB, BFB, Mama Jane Oh a little Nammy boy is coming home from BFB We've a bunch of purple flowers to decorate to Mammy's hero Morning in the aerodrome, the weather warm, the heat is colder Four men in uniform to carry home my little soldier What could he do? He should have been a rock star But he didn't have the money for a guitar What could he do? He should have been a politician But he never had a proper education What could he do? He should have been a father But he never even made it to his twenties What a waste, army dreamers Oh what a waste of army dreamers Tears are a tin box, but Jesus Christ he wasn't to know Like a chicken with a fix, he couldn't wait for the war to go Give the kid the bed of bricks, and give him all his trips and riddles While he's sitting in his home, he reaches for a handful of silverware What could he do? He should have been a rock star But he didn't have the money for a guitar What could he do? He should have been a politician But he never had a proper education What could he do? He should have been a father But he never even made it to his twenties What a waste, army dreamers Oh what a waste of army dreamers Oh what a waste of all them army dreamers Army dreamers Army dreamers Army Dreamers