Tune: Lieber Augustine

I heard this sad song — oh, in the old Orongorongo:
"There'll be no more double-bunking, double-bunking for me!"
 
I said to the vocalist, "Oh, why do you so insist,    
There'll be no more double-bunking, double-bunking for me?"

There'll be no more double-bunking, double-bunking, double-bunking,
There'll be no more double-bunking, double-bunking, for me.

Oh I've had a gutsful
Of tramps where the hut's full.

There'll be no more, etc.

I've weakened and lost weight,
I've ruined my prostate,

There'll be no more, etc.

My mouth's full of fur too,
I can't eat my burgoo.

There'll be no more, etc.

I'm washed out like a dish-rag,
I've ruptured my sleeping-bag,

There'll be no more, etc.

Henceforth and hereafter
I'll sleep on a rafter,
On a peak or a pinnacle,
Or under a waterfall,
On sand or on shingle:
BUT I'M GOING TO SLEEP SINGLE."

There'll be no more, etc.