| First you tell your draft board you’re hooked on dope
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| You don’t need the army 'cause you’ve seen Bob Hope
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| Walk around the floor kinda nice and loose
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| Tell 'em your fiancee’s name is Bruce
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| When they ask about your schooling, then you say
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| That you studied under Cassius Clay
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| Then put some lipstick on when you’re photographed
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| And that’s what I call dodging the draft!
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| Then you show the captain a note from mom
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| Stand there while he reads it and suck your thumb
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| When he takes your family history, state with pride
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| «Benedict Arnold was on my father’s side.»
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| He’ll hand you an IQ test, just look at it with gloom
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| Then fold it like an airplane and sail it 'cross the room
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| If they believe you don’t know your fore from your aft
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| That’s what I call… shirking your military responsibility
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| Clump around the floor like your feet are flat
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| When they ask about your hearing, just say, «How's that?»
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| If the sergeant wants a cigarette, treat him right
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| Set fire to your draft card, and offer him a light
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| When you see the eyechart, don’t worry at all |
| Say, «I'll be glad to read it, just point me at the wall.»
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| And if the draft board acts in the usual way
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| You’ll be what I call 1-A |