While the thunder of your cannons wakes the echoes from afar.
And if, while you're in Germany, you happen to be bored,
Why, you rush away to Russia, and you call upon the CZAR.
With your wordy perorations,
And your peaceful proclamations,
While you grind the nation's manhood in your military mill.
And whenever skies look pleasant
Out you go and shoot a pheasant,
Or as many as you want to, with your double-barrelled will.
You can always flout your father, too—he's dead, but never mind;