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34 THE GUNS
With a bearing of snub-nosed detachment
He squats like a toad on a stool He's a close-lipped and masterly beggar,
A fellow with little to say, But the little he says he can say in
A most irrepressible way.
Chorus. 00—plonk ! OO-plonk ! plonk ! plonk !
plonk! The bomb that bears the message riots
through the air. The dug-outs topple over on the foemen
under cover, They'll slumber through revelly who get
the message there !
The battery barks in the spinney, The howitzer plonks like the deuce, |
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