The orders come down and they march us away.
 There's a battle to fight, and we join in the fray.
 Ghod, it's hell when you know this could be your last day ~
 But it's better than working for Xerox.
 
 	So March, March, April, May, June, July,
 	August, September, we'll fight every day,
 	And it's fare-thee-well all vestige of modesty ~
 	All of the Dorsai are singing.
 
 Some go for the glory, some just like to fight,
 But the truth is we Dorsai are not very bright.
 We'll steal or we'll screw what we can't shoot on sight ~
 Ghod, it's hell to encounter a fireplug.
 
 	So March, March, April, May, June, July,
 	August, September, we'll fight every day,
 	And it's fare-thee-well all vestige of harmony ~
 	All of the Dorsai are drinking.
 
 We Dorsai have honor, we always fight fair,
 Except when we're loosing and then we don't care.
 For defeat is disgrace that we never could bear ~
 And we only get paid when we're winning.
 
 	So March, March, April, May, June, July,
 	August, September, we'll fight every day,
 	And it's fare-thee-well all vestige of honesty ~
 	All of the Dorsai are cheating.
 
 And when the battle is over, and the fighting is done,
 If ten of us made it we figure we've won.
 'Cause we count the survivors, and count them by one 
 Two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine ~ many.
 
 	So March, March, April, May, June, July,
 	August, September, we'll fight every day,
 	And it's fare-thee-well all vestige of comedy ~
 	All of the Dorsai are counting.