THE SORROWFUL SNIPER.
I'm un'appy, so I am. Don't enjoy me beef nor jam,
An' I'm grumpy an' as 'umpy as a camel.
Bin an' stopped my leave? Oh no! That was fixed up long ago;
But the trouble is, I've got it, an' I feel afeared to go,
An' it's all alonger tin o' green enamel.
Fancy spendin' New Year's Eve, when you oughter be on leave,
In a dugout where the damp is slowly tricklin',
All alonger tin o' green an' a sniper lank an' lean
'Oo was swearin' an' a-strafin' an' a-snipin' in between,
Till the Sergeant told me off to stop 'is ticklin'.
So I trimmed meself with straw, an' a grass an' hay coffyure,
An' I clothed meself with faggots that a pal 'ad;
Then the Sergeant got a brush an' some green an' sticky slush,
An' 'e plastered me all over till I couldn't raise a blush,
And I looked jest like a vegetable salad.
Then I crept out in the night, an' I waited for the light,
But the sniper saw me fust an' scored an inner.
I could 'ear the twigs divide, but I signalled 'im a "wide,"
Then I squinted down me barrel, an' I let me finger glide,
An' I pipped 'im where 'e uster put 'is dinner.
Yus, I busted up the Bosch, but I found out, at the wash,
That enamel was a fast an' lastin' colour,
An' the soap I used to clean made me shine a brighter green;
I'm a cabbage, I'm a lettuce, I'm a walkin' kidney bean,
An' I ain't a-leavin' Flanders till it's duller.