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"My Little Dry Home in the West
I’ve a little wet home in a trench
And the rainstorms continually drench
There’s the sky overhead clay or mud for a bed
And a stone we use for a bench
Bully beef & hard biscuits we chew
It seems years since we tasted a stew
Shells crackle & scare, yet no place can compare
With my little wet home in the trench.
Our friends in that trench o’er the way
Seem to know we have come here to stay
They shoot & they shout, but they carn’t get us out
And there’s no dirty trick they won’t play
They rushed us a few nights ago
Our fellows objected & so
Some returned rather sore, others left evermore
Our little wet home in the trench
So hurrah for the mud & the clay
That leads to "Der Tag" that’s the day
When we enter Berlin that city of sin
And make the fat Berliner pay
We will think of the mud & the trench
As we lay with the Belgians & French
There’ll be shed then I fear redder stuff than a tear
For my little wet home in the trench."
