Or, if there's nothin' doin' of a winter afternoon,
The Old Man's at 'eadquarters 'avin' tea,
The section subs is feedin' up with oysters in Bethoon,
The Capting's snorin' out at the O.P.;
The Sergeant-Major's cleaned 'is teeth an' gone a prommynard,
The N.C.O.s is somewhere drinkin' beer,
An' the man they've left to work an' drill an' grouse an' mount the guard
Is of course your 'umble actin' bombardier.
Oh, I'm the man that takes fatigues for bringin' stores at night,
Conductin' G.S. wagons in the snow,