I Don’t Want To Get Well

I just received an answer to a letter that I wrote,
From a pal who marched away;
He was wounded in the trenches somewhere in France,
And I worried about him night and day.
“Are you getting well?” is what I wrote,
And this is what he answered to the note:

Chorus –
“I don’t want to get well,
I don’t want to get well;
I’m in love with a beautiful nurse.
Early every morning, night and noon,
The cutest little girlie comes and feeds me with a spoon;
I don’t want to get well,
I don’t want to get well;
I’m glad they shot me on the firing line, fine!
The doctor says I’m in a bad condition,
But, oh! oh! oh! I’ve go so much ambition.
I don’t want to get well,
I don’t want to get well;
For I’m having a wonderful time.”

I showed this letter to a friend who lives next door to me,
And I heard him quickly say:
“Good-bye, pal, I must be going; I’m off to war,
And I hope that I am wounded right away.
If what’s in this letter here is true,
I’ll get shot and then I’ll write to you”

– GLADYS E. HARRISON, Henderson, Texas.

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