We are going down town,
And over the seven hills,
The long way round,
With a body full of pills.

All of my blisters have burst,
The feelings drained from my limbs,
This really is the worst,
So where is my promised Pims?

With the screaming of the crowd,
And the marching boots of an army,
It is something to make you proud,
So why do it? because its barmy.

We are going for our medal,
For this new sensation,
I am shaking hands with the devil,
On the four day march in Nijmegen.