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[Page 152]

                          On Leave
I wanter go back to the trenches;
I wanter go back to the front!
I wanter go back to me rifle an' pack,
An' 'ear me old straps creak and grunt:
I wanter get back to me blanket,
An' sleep on me old little plank.
'Cos the cold, clammy sheets that the folks thinks is treats
Make me shiver like rats in a tank

I wanter get back from the war news,
I wanter get back to the Hun:
I wanter retreat from the chaps in the street
'Oo know 'ow the war should be run:
I wanter go where "Tipperary"
Ain't whistled from morning 'till night:
I wanter go back where the Zepps don't attack
'Cos there ain't any babies to fight.

I wanter get back from the flappers
'Oo rattle their boxes an' flags:
I wanter vamoose from the blooming revues
An' the wearisome singin' of "rags"
I wanter get back from the motors
An miners with strikes on the brain.
I'm muddled to think, an' I shan't sleep a wink
Till I'm safe back in Flanders again.

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