There’s mud in the cover that covers your head,
There’s mud in the coffee, the slum, and the bread—
Sunny France!
There’s mud in your eyebrows, there’s mud up your nose,
There’s mud on your leggins to add to your woes,
The mud in your boots finds its place ’twixt your toes—
Sunny France!
Oh, the grimy mud, the slimy mud, the mud that makes you swear,
The cheesy mud, the greasy mud, that filters through your hair.
You sleep in the mud, and drink it, that’s true;