DOT leedle Tommy Adkins,
Him go to var vun day,
By REV. G. A. SCHMIDT.
Him sail avay from Dover town
Und landed by Calais.
Ach Himmel!
Und Tommy hav a red coat,
Und Tommy hav a gun,
So Tommy nefer stop to think
Dat brrhaps him hav to run,
Like sixty!
Him tink him go to picnic,
Shust like vun fine parade,
Dee French and Belgians fight like—fits,
But Tommy, him afraid.
Poor Tommy!
Him shcare dem bloomin’ Germans,
Vot valk right into France,
Und den dey valk right back again,
Und nefer hav no chance.
Aber nit!
Him hav one grand excursion
From London to dee Seine,
Und mid some sporty mad’moiselles,
Him drink dat dry schampagne.
By golly!
But “blawst” dem German soljers,
Dey spoil him all dat fun,
Und Tommy like to hustle home,
Before dat fight begun.
Don’t you know!