I’m out because I had to come;
I am no blooming volunteer
Who fights for King and Christendom –
I jinked the army for two year.
At last they nabbed me, and, bejeeze,
They put me through the blinking mill –
“ ’Shun, right turn!” no sweet, “If you please,
Move up there, and remain quite still.”
I’m in a damned trench with full kit,
A Short Lee-Enfield with a spike;
God knows how I am sticking it,
It’s not the blasted job I like.
Some one shall pay, you may be sure;
I’ll do my bit and plug some lout –
A Prussian pig or Saxon boor,
I’ll lay some blistered Jerry out.
To-morrow we move up, and I
Don’t care a continental dam
For new ideals, but I’ll die
Doing my bit, just as I am.
I may be pipped; but if I’m not
I hope to kill a dozen swine,
And D.C.M.’s, and all that rot,
Can go to hell – the dead are mine.