A Trench Ditty

When the war is over an' the fun is wearin' thin
Of brightly doin' goosesteps down the alleys of Berlin,

I'll find some German ulan, twist 'is 'elmet off 'is 'ead.
An' throw 'im my puttees (what's left) to wear around instead.

And I'll march into the station and address the bookin'-clerk:
"Ein billet for old England, look sharp, you frightful Turk.

"For I've had enough of Boches and I've shot a handsome few —
Look sharp, you ruddy Strafer, or I may be shootin' you."

'E'll find a ticket fast enough, an' fust-class I'll go back
With my feet upon the cushions an' my rifle in the rack.

An' when I gets to England, why, I'll marry some sweet maid
An' tell 'er 'ow we crossed the Rhine an' what the Prussians paid.

Every night, for luck, I'll drink afore I go to bed
A pint from out that 'elmet that once squeezed the ulan's 'ead.

And on the Kaiser's birthday I will send, to keep 'im keen,
A card with "God strafe England" on and "Wot price St. Heleen?"

When the war is over, that's the kind o' course I'll steer —
But it ain't quite over yet, my lad, so 'cave that sandbag 'ere!