Same old dust round Rouen way,
Same old narsty one-franc note,
Same old "Mercy, sivvoo play;"
Same old scramble up the line,
Same old 'orse-box, same old stror,
Same old weather, wet or fine,
Same old blooming War.
Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
It's just as it used to be, every bit;
Same old whistle and same old bang,