A Day At Camp Decibel

A Day At Camp Decibel
by John Forster & Tom Chapin
© 2003 Limousine Music Co. & The Last Music Co. (ASCAP)

We got to camp last night
But I couldn’t sleep at all
Until dawn’s early light,
When I hear this bugle call.

When reveille calls it penetrates walls
And decimates peaceful slumber.
It suddenly screams inside of your dreams
And forces you out of bed.

So we run to the lawn
Where they’re raising the flag
And we stand by the flagpole, saluting.
And the whole camp is there
But they seem unaware
Of how loud the stupid bugler is tooting.

Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast,
Why do they call it mess?
One look at the oatmeal, I begin to guess.
Help, I’m being poisoned. Send an S.O.S.!

To the handicrafters shack
Where they send you out in back
To create stuff that nobody uses.
Like a lanyard or a belt or a polyester pelt
Which you give to your Mom and she loses.

Lunchy, lunchy, lunchy,
Now it’s time for lunch.
Mystery meat and bug juice,
Green fluorescent punch.
Coleslaw shouldn’t bubble,
Jello shouldn’t crunch.

Fire drill! Fire drill!
Run to the lake or gather on the hill.
There’s nothing wrong, there’s nothing wrong
The bugler needed practice.
Thanks a bunch you ruined lunch
Just for a fire drill.

Take a trip to the lake, catch a newt, see a snake.
Bring back a pail of slime.
Then you poke through the pot
And you see what you’ve got.
You’ve got a pail of slime.

Back to the bunk for your bathing suit,
Then down to the water we fly.
Then in we dash with a mighty splash
And a heck of a hue and cry.

It gets so muddy you lose your buddy
Amidst the frolickers there.
Our lips are blue and we’re wrinkled, too
But nobody seems to care.

Dinner, dinner, dinner, yummy lima beans.
Succotash and cheese whiz, wilted salad greens.
Must be why the lunchroom’s next to the latrines.

Dinner is done. Campfire fun.
The embers rise. The smoke gets in your eyes.
The mosquitoes drill into your thighs.
Marshmallows scorch and go up like a torch,
Black and brown, oozing down,
If by chance we drop it in the hay, we eat it anyway.

Day is done. Time for taps.
Time to head for my bed and collapse.
’Cause the last bugle blast now is past.

This song appears on Tom Chapin's Making Good Noise CD.

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