And w’en it comes to light,
We blanky well can’t read it,
’Cause it’s dark as Egypt’s night.
But, anyway, that’s roustin’,
You don’t want to ’eed our ’owl;
They say as ’ow a soldier
’As a perfect right to growl.
If it’s bully beef till Doomsday,
We ain’t goin’ to make a fuss—
So long as we can lick the Turks,