Which kicked up the deuce of a mess.
We’d been fighting five days without resting,
When the eighth line of trenches we took;
For ev’ry man there was a hero—
From me to the company’s cook.
And there was the knoll just before us—
Some two hundred paces or more;
With barb-wire and bayonets bristling,
And the parapets sloppy with gore.
And the howitzers roared like perdition