Phut, whizz, pow, pop
How I’d die, for spud and chop
Crack, crash, smash, boom
A glass of bitter in Ma’s room.
Blast, splinters, a near miss
Dorothy Johnson and that kiss
I didn’t want to be here now
I didn’t want to dig this trench
I didn’t want to fire this gun
Bury bodies, smell this stench
I didn’t want to be here now
I didn’t want to go to war
I didn’t want to throw grenades
Killing men, why, what for
Boom, bang my ears are ringing
Round the piano, loudly singing
Thud, donk, thump, splat
Playing cards with Bill and Nat
Phut, whizz, pow, pop
I think we’re going over the top