There’s only tea for tea.
We can take our “iron rations,”
Tho’ they ’and ’em out like ’Ell,
An’ we’d charge the blankey Turkeys
Thro’ a cataract of shell!
But wot narks us more than any
Is to ’ear the sergeant say:
“The sea’s too rough to land our stores;
There ain’t no jam to-day!”
When we’re stuck up in the trenches,