And a fist that ’ud fell a horse,
And he ripped through the mire of blood and barbed wire,
Like a bull through a bunch of gorse.
Whin he waded in, sure ’twas a sin,
The way that he bashed and bruk ’em;
He dropped on thim Huns like forty tons,
And they niver knew what had struck ’em.
“Poor dears,” says Mike, “I’m thinking belike