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THE TOMMY'S LAMENT
(The Ritz-Loos Salient.)
I fancy it's not 'arf my chance To go on plodding 'neath my pack,
Parading like a snail through France, My house upon my bloomin' back.
My wants are few, but what I need Ain't not so much of bully stew,
Nor biscuits, that's a mongrel's feed, But, matey, just 'twixt me and you—
When winks the early evening star, And shadows o'er the trenches come—
I wish the sergeants brought a jar, And issued double tots of rum.
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