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WHERE THE TRENCHES RUN DOWN FROM THE SOMME TO THE SEA
Tune—"The Mountains of Morne"
OH, Mary, the front is a wonderful place,
Where a person can’t fight without shaving his face;
We’re not very frightened of shells, so I’ve found,
But when generals come near we all get to ground.
I met one in a trench, and some tea-leaves were there,
And we got such a strafing it whitened our hair,
So it seems we must swallow the leaves in our tea,
Where the trenches run down from the Somme to the sea.
Where a person can’t fight without shaving his face;
We’re not very frightened of shells, so I’ve found,
But when generals come near we all get to ground.
I met one in a trench, and some tea-leaves were there,
And we got such a strafing it whitened our hair,
So it seems we must swallow the leaves in our tea,
Where the trenches run down from the Somme to the sea.
At night-time I can’t sleep a full minute’s space,
For the rats playing games on the top of my face,
And other small creatures I’d rather not name,
But they live in the folds of my kilt just the same.
Tell wee Jimmy, if only our dug-out he knew,
He’d never be asking to go to the Zoo,
For the rats playing games on the top of my face,
And other small creatures I’d rather not name,
But they live in the folds of my kilt just the same.
Tell wee Jimmy, if only our dug-out he knew,
He’d never be asking to go to the Zoo,
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