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There's a tramp o' feet in the mornin,' There's an oath from an N.C.O., As up the road to the trenches The brown battalions go : Guns and rifles and wagons, Transports and horses and men, Up with the flush of the dawnin', And back with the night again.
Back again from the battle,
From the mates we've left behind,
And our officers are gloomy
And the N.C.O.'s are kind ;