It begins its work of slaughter
It will possibly harm the Kentish cliff,
But it's perfectly certain to go and biff
The French one into the water.
So when you shall hear a noise on high
Like the medium brush of a barber,
And a monstrous bullet falls from the sky
And blows off the head of a Prussian spy
As he dallies in Dover Harbour,
You shall know that at last the War Lord's host,