The rough of it, the tough of it,
goddamn, we’ve had enough of it.
To hell! We’ll roar, we’ll take no more
and that will be the end of it.
We’ll strive to be, you’ll cease to be;
the best of men will come to be.
We’ll take our lot no matter what
whatever then, we’ll choose to be.
Been quiet ’till now, been meek ’till now;
we’ve held our peace, that is, ’till now.
We may to force, no other course,
all other means, we’ve tried ’till now.
To live, for what, this life, for what,
why must we even ask, for what?
We’ve stood your pains and wore your chains;
your rule and greed, is that for what?
To arms, we must, to war, we must;
we’ll win this day with blood, we must.
Into the fray, make hell, make pay,
and so be it if slain, we must.
What of the end, is this the end,
what we have done to meet our end?
Should we have died, our hopes denied;
of nowt but blood into the end.
And what of us, what left of us,
to bone and dust the best of us.
And all for what, with time forgot
not even hope remembers us.