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Banjo Paterson - That V.C.
Work rating: Low

`Twas in the days of front attack;
This glorious truth we`d yet to learn it —
That every "front" has got a back.
And French was just the man to turn it.
A wounded soldier on the ground
Was lying hid behind a hummock;
He proved the good old proverb sound —
An army travels on its stomach.

He lay as flat as any fish;
His nose had worn a little furrow;
He only had one frantic wish,
That like an ant-bear he could burrow.

The bullets whistled into space,
The pom-pom gun kept up its braying,
The fout-point-seven supplied the bass —
You`d think the devil`s band was playing.

A valiant comrade crawling near
Observed his most supine behaviour,
And crept towards him; "Hey! what cheer?
Buck up," said he, "I`ve come to save yer.

"You get up on my shoulders, mate,
And, if we live beyond the firing,
I`ll get the V.C. sure as fate,
Because our blokes is all retiring.

"It`s fifty pound a year," says he,
"I`ll stand you lots of beer and whisky."
"No," says the wounded man, "not me,
I`ll not be saved — it`s far too risky.

"I`m fairly safe behind this mound,
I`ve worn a hole that seems to fit me;
But if you lift me off the ground
It`s fifty pounds to one they`ll hit me."

So back towards the firing-line
Our friend crept slowly to the rear-oh!
Remarking "What a selfish swine!
He might have let me be a hero."
Source
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