---

C J Dennis - To The Boys Who Took The Count
Work rating: Low

See, I`m writin` to Mick as a bloke to a bloke -
   To a cobber o` mine at the front -
An` I`m gittin` full up uv the mullock they poke
   At the cove that is bearin` the brunt.
Fer `e mus`n`t do this an` `e shouldn`t do that,
   An` `e`s crook if `e looks a bit shick,
An` `e`s gittin` too uppish, an` don`t touch `is `at -
   But `ere`s `ow I puts it to Mick.

Now it`s dickin to style if yer playin` the game.
   If it`s marbles, or shinty, or war;
I`ve seen `em lob `ome `ere, the `alt an` the lame,
   That wus fine `efty fellers before.
They wus toughs, they wus crooks, they wus ev`ry bad thing,
   But they mixed it as gentlemen should.
So `ere`s to the coot wiv `is eye in a sling,
   An` a smile in the one that is good.

It wus playin` the game in the oval an` ring -
   An` playin` fer orl it wus worth -
That give `em the knack uv a punch wiv a sting
   When they fought fer the land uv their birth.
They wus pebs, they wus narks, they wus reel naughty boys,
   But they didn`t need no second `int,
So ere`s to the bloke wiv `is swearin` an` noise,
   An` `is foot in a fathom uv lint.

There wus fellers I knoo in the soft days uv peace;
   An` I didn`t know much to their good;
An` they give more `ard graft to the overworked p`leece
   Than a reel puffick gentleman should.
They wus lookin` fer lash long before it wus doo;
   When it come, they wus into it, straight.
So `ere`s to the bloke wiv `is shoulder shot thro`
   `Oo is cursin` the days `e`s to wait.

Ar, dickin to swank! when it comes to a mill,
   It`s the bloke wiv a punch `oo`s yer friend.
An` a coarse, narsty man wiv the moniker Bill
   Earns the thanks uv the crowd in the end.
(An` when I sez "earns" I am `opin` no stint
   Will be charged agin us by-an`-bye.)
So `ere`s to the boy wiv `is arm in a splint
   An` a "don`t-care-a-dam" in `is eye.

`Cos the fightin`s too far fer to give us a grip
   Of the `ell full uv slaughter an` noise,
There`s a breed that gives me the particular pip
   Be the way that they torks uv the boys.
0, they`re coarse, an` they`re rude, an` it`s awful to liv
   Wiv their cursin` an` shoutin` an` fuss.
Dam it!  `Ere`s to the bloke wiv the bad-lookin` chiv
   That `e poked inter trouble fer us!

0, it`s dead agin etikit, dead agin style
   Fer to swear an` to swagger an` skite;
But a battle ain`t won wiv a drorin`-room smile,
   An` yeh `ave to be rude in a fight.
An` it`s bein` reel rude to enemy blokes
   That`ll earn yeh that `ero-like touch,
So `ere`s to the boy wiv `is curses an` jokes
   `Oo is `oppin` about on a crutch.

Now, the Turk is a gent, an` they greets `im as such,
   An` they gives doo respect to `is Nibs;
But `e never `eld orf to apolergise much
   When `e slid `is cold steel in their ribs.
An` our boys won the name that they give `em of late
   `Cos they fought like a jugful uv crooks,
So `ere`s to the bloke wiv the swaggerin` gait
   An` a bullet mark spoilin` `is looks.

So, the bloke wiv the scoff, an` the bloke wiv the sneer,
   An` the coot wiv the sensitive soul,
`E `as got to sit back, an` jist change `is idear
   Uv the stuffin` that makes a man whole.
Fer the polish an` gilt that`s a win wiv the skirts
   It wears thin wiv the friction uv war.
So `ere`s to the cove `oo is nursin` `is `urts
   Wiv an oath in the set uv `is jor.

When yeh`ve stripped a cove clean an` got down to the buff
   Yeh come to the meat that`s the man.
If yeh want to find grit an` sich similar  stuff,
   Yeh`ve to strip on a similar plan.
Fer there`s nothin` like scrappin` to bare a man`s soul,
   If it`s Billo, or Percy, or Gus.
So `ere`s to the bloke `oo `ops round on a pole
   An` `owls songs goin` `ome on the bus.

Spare me days!  When a bloke takes the count in a scrap
   That `e`s fightin` fer you an` fer me,
Is it fair that a snob `as the nerve fer to snout
   Any swad `cos `is manners is free?
They`re deservin` our thanks, frum the best to the worst -
   An` there`s some is reel rorty, I own -
But `ere`s to the coot wiv the `ang-over thirst
   `Oo sprags a stray toff fer a loan.

So I`m writin` to Mick; an` I`m feelin` reel wet
   Wiv the sort o` superior nark,
`Oo tilts up `is conk an` gits orl the boys set,
   `Oo are out fer a bit uv a lark.
So I puts it to Mick, as I sez when I starts,
   An` I ends wiv the solemest toast:
`Ere`s to `im - (raise yer glass) - `oo left pride in our `earts
   An` `is bones on Gallipoli coast.
Source
The script ran 0.002 seconds.