A WAIL FROM ORDNANCE
We’re only in the Ordience,Not troopers of the line;We don’t attack no enemy,Nor in the papers shine.We just wait here from morn till night,Expectin’ these ’ere shellsThat makes our lives, what were so bright,So many earthly ’ells.We ’and out underpants and socks,And boots and coats galore,To them as gives and takes hard knocksAn’ soon gets used to war.We keep their clothing up to dick,Equip and arm ’em, too;We rig out the returning sickAlmostas good as new.They blew us from our depot southA bit along the beach,We humped our blueys, nothing loath,And settled out of reach.Our store grew large and prosperous,We laughed at Turk and Hun,Until they trained on us one dayA blasted four-point-one.Each morning they put in a fewTo bring us from our beds,From time to time the whole day throughThey make us duck our heads.One eye is cocked for cover,And one ear is for the whiz,An’, until the fuss is over, wePostpone our daily biz.Now, when the war is over,And we return to peace,Though we may live in clover,Enjoying lives of ease—A striking clock will wake us,A blow-out make us run,And cry again our old refrain:“Gott straf’ that four-point-one!”Lieut.Kininmonth,A.O.C.
We’re only in the Ordience,Not troopers of the line;We don’t attack no enemy,Nor in the papers shine.We just wait here from morn till night,Expectin’ these ’ere shellsThat makes our lives, what were so bright,So many earthly ’ells.We ’and out underpants and socks,And boots and coats galore,To them as gives and takes hard knocksAn’ soon gets used to war.We keep their clothing up to dick,Equip and arm ’em, too;We rig out the returning sickAlmostas good as new.They blew us from our depot southA bit along the beach,We humped our blueys, nothing loath,And settled out of reach.Our store grew large and prosperous,We laughed at Turk and Hun,Until they trained on us one dayA blasted four-point-one.Each morning they put in a fewTo bring us from our beds,From time to time the whole day throughThey make us duck our heads.One eye is cocked for cover,And one ear is for the whiz,An’, until the fuss is over, wePostpone our daily biz.Now, when the war is over,And we return to peace,Though we may live in clover,Enjoying lives of ease—A striking clock will wake us,A blow-out make us run,And cry again our old refrain:“Gott straf’ that four-point-one!”Lieut.Kininmonth,A.O.C.
We’re only in the Ordience,Not troopers of the line;We don’t attack no enemy,Nor in the papers shine.We just wait here from morn till night,Expectin’ these ’ere shellsThat makes our lives, what were so bright,So many earthly ’ells.
We’re only in the Ordience,
Not troopers of the line;
We don’t attack no enemy,
Nor in the papers shine.
We just wait here from morn till night,
Expectin’ these ’ere shells
That makes our lives, what were so bright,
So many earthly ’ells.
We ’and out underpants and socks,And boots and coats galore,To them as gives and takes hard knocksAn’ soon gets used to war.We keep their clothing up to dick,Equip and arm ’em, too;We rig out the returning sickAlmostas good as new.
We ’and out underpants and socks,
And boots and coats galore,
To them as gives and takes hard knocks
An’ soon gets used to war.
We keep their clothing up to dick,
Equip and arm ’em, too;
We rig out the returning sick
Almostas good as new.
They blew us from our depot southA bit along the beach,We humped our blueys, nothing loath,And settled out of reach.Our store grew large and prosperous,We laughed at Turk and Hun,Until they trained on us one dayA blasted four-point-one.
They blew us from our depot south
A bit along the beach,
We humped our blueys, nothing loath,
And settled out of reach.
Our store grew large and prosperous,
We laughed at Turk and Hun,
Until they trained on us one day
A blasted four-point-one.
Each morning they put in a fewTo bring us from our beds,From time to time the whole day throughThey make us duck our heads.One eye is cocked for cover,And one ear is for the whiz,An’, until the fuss is over, wePostpone our daily biz.
Each morning they put in a few
To bring us from our beds,
From time to time the whole day through
They make us duck our heads.
One eye is cocked for cover,
And one ear is for the whiz,
An’, until the fuss is over, we
Postpone our daily biz.
Now, when the war is over,And we return to peace,Though we may live in clover,Enjoying lives of ease—A striking clock will wake us,A blow-out make us run,And cry again our old refrain:“Gott straf’ that four-point-one!”
Now, when the war is over,
And we return to peace,
Though we may live in clover,
Enjoying lives of ease—
A striking clock will wake us,
A blow-out make us run,
And cry again our old refrain:
“Gott straf’ that four-point-one!”
Lieut.Kininmonth,A.O.C.
Lieut.Kininmonth,
A.O.C.