We slogged the cows remorseless, ‘n’ they
     laid for us a treat. 
We held that stinkin’ cellar, though, ‘n’ when
     the day was done
Son pussied on his bingie where a Maxie trim
     ‘n’ neat
Had spit out loaded lightnin’, and he slugged
     a tubby Hun,
Then choked a Fritzie with his dukes, ‘n’
     pinched the sooner’s gun!

We rigged her on her knuckle-bones.  Cri’,
     how she lapped ’em up! 
We hosed ’em out with livin’ lead.  That was
     the second day. 
Me left eye I’d ’ave give for jest a bubble in a
     cup,
Three fingers I’d ’ave parted for a bone I’ve
     flung away;
But the butcher wasn’t callin’, ‘n’ the fountain
     didn’t play.

T’was rotten mozzle, Neddo.  We had blown
     out ever clip,
‘N’ ’blooed the hammunition for the little box
     of tricks. 
Each took a batten in his fist.  Sez Billy
     “Let ’er rip!”
But Son he claws his stubble.  Sez—­he: 
     “Hold a brace of ticks.” 
Then “Yow!” he pipes ‘n’ “Strewth!” he
     sez, “it’s bricks, you blighters,
     bricks!”

There’s more than ’arf a million spilt where
     somethin’ hit a pub;
We creeps among ‘n’ sorts ’em, stack afore,
     ‘n’ stack behind;
The Hun is comin’ at us with his napper like
     a tub—­
You couldn’t ’ope to miss it, pickled, par-
     alysed, ‘n’ blind. 
Sez Sonny:  “Lay ’em open!  Give ’em
     blotches on the rind!”

Then bricks was flyin’ in the wind.  Mine
     dinted Otto’s chin;
Ole Nosey got his brother, which he never
     more will roam. 
When Ulrich stopped a Port bookay he rolled
     his alley in. 
Their fire was somethin’ fierce.  Poor Son
     was blowin’ blood ‘n’ foam,
“Fill up,” he coughs, “‘n’ plug ’em!  S’elp
     me Gord, we’re goin’ ’ome!”

With bricks we drove right at ’em ‘n’ we
     wanged ’em best we could. 
’Twas either bed ‘n’ breakfast or a scribble
     and a wreath. 
Haynes bust a Prussian’s almond, took the
     bay’net where he stood,
Then heaved his last ’arf-Brunswick, split
     the demon’s grinnin’ teeth,
And Son went down in glory, with a German
     underneath!

We’d started out with gibbers in our clobber
     and our ’ats. 
They gave us floatin’ lead enough to stop an
     army cor. 
We yelled like fiends, ‘n’ countered with a
     lovely flight of bats,
Then rushed in close formation, heavin’ cot-
     tages, n’ tore
Through blinded, bleedin’ Bosches, ‘n’ lor
     love yeh, it was war!

We came peltin’, headfirst, ’elpless, in a drain
     among a lot
Of dirty, damned old Tommies (Gord!  The
     best that ever blew!)
Eight left of us, all punctured, each man
     holdin’ what he’d got. 
Me wild, a rat hole in me lung, but in me
     mauley, too,
A bull-nosed brick with whiskers where no
     whiskers ever grew.