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Robert W Service - A Song Of The Sandbags
Work rating: Medium

No, Bill, I`m not a-spooning out no patriotic tosh
    (The cove be`ind the sandbags ain`t a death-or-glory cuss).
And though I strafes `em good and `ard I doesn`t `ate the Boche,
    I guess they`re mostly decent, just the same as most of us.
I guess they loves their `omes and kids as much as you or me;
    And just the same as you or me they`d rather shake than fight;
And if we`d `appened to be born at Berlin-on-the-Spree,
    We`d be out there with `Ans and Fritz, dead sure that we was right.

A-standin` up to the sandbags
    It`s funny the thoughts wot come;
Starin` into the darkness,
    `Earin` the bullets `um;
(Zing! Zip! Ping! Rip!
    `ark `ow the bullets `um!)
A-leanin` against the sandbags
    Wiv me rifle under me ear,
Oh, I`ve `ad more thoughts on a sentry-go
    Than I used to `ave in a year.

I wonder, Bill, if `Ans and Fritz is wonderin` like me
    Wot`s at the bottom of it all? Wot all the slaughter`s for?
`E thinks `e`s right (of course `e ain`t) but this we both agree,
    If them as made it `ad to fight, there wouldn`t be no war.
If them as lies in feather beds while we kips in the mud;
    If them as makes their fortoons while we fights for `em like `ell;
If them as slings their pot of ink just `ad to sling their blood:
    By Crust! I`m thinkin` there `ud be another tale to tell.

Shiverin` up to the sandbags,
    With a hicicle `stead of a spine,
Don`t it seem funny the things you think
    `Ere in the firin` line:
(Whee! Whut! Ziz! Zut!
    Lord! `ow the bullets whine!)
Hunkerin` down when a star-shell
    Cracks in a sputter of light,
You can jaw to yer soul by the sandbags
    Most any old time o` night.

They talks o` England`s glory and a-`oldin` of our trade,
    Of Empire and `igh destiny until we`re fair flim-flammed;
But if it`s for the likes o` that that bloody war is made,
    Then wot I say is: Empire and `igh destiny be damned!
There`s only one good cause, Bill, for poor blokes like us to fight:
    That`s self-defence, for `earth and `ome, and them that bears our name;
And that`s wot I`m a-doin` by the sandbags `ere to-night. . . .
    But Fritz out there will tell you `e`s a-doin` of the same.

Starin` over the sandbags,
    Sick of the `ole damn thing;
Firin` to keep meself awake,
    `Earin` the bullets sing.
(Hiss! Twang! Tsing! Pang!
    Saucy the bullets sing.)
Dreamin` `ere by the sandbags
    Of a day when war will cease,
When `Ans and Fritz and Bill and me
    Will clink our mugs in fraternity,
And the Brotherhood of Labour will be
    The Brotherhood of Peace.
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