The Somme

Take the Schilling off the drum
If only I knew the pain to come
A final drink with all your Pals
Kiss and a cuddle with all the Gals
Off to war to fight the Crouts
With your kit bag and a ounce of snout
Cross the channel and into France
Then it hits you like blowing glance
This is war and it won't be nice
The warm summer air chills you like ice
Down to the Somme for the battle to begin
At 730 it would all kick in
Over the top at the blow of a whistle
Bayonets ready follow Captain Neville
He holds a football in his hands all is quiet no one speaks
With a mighty kick he boots it into next week
A gallon of rum lads to the man who scores first
He blows his whistle as he quenches it's thirst
Over he goes like a galloping Gazelle
Come on lads it's glory or hell
Then I saw him the dreaded Hun
He had the look of death and was about to run
I shot him dead he fell to the floor
By the end of the hour there would be many more
By 630 we were held at bay
Exhausted and bloody I had survived the day
Looking around I could see only blood
Dead men lay flat in the mud
What's the point someone shouted rather vague
This is all your fault General flipping Haig.