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[Page 13]

"My little wet home in the Trench"
To the tune of my little Grey home in the west.


I have a little wet home in the trench
Which the rainstorms continually drench
There is a dead Turk close by
With his feet to the sky
And he gives off a beautiful stench
Underneath in the place of a floor
There is a mass of wet mud and some straw
And the Jack Johnsons tear
Through the rain–sodden air
Oer my little wet home in the trench


There are snipers who keep on the go
So you must keep your nappers down low
And the star shells at night
Make a deuce of a light
Which causes the language to flow
Then bully and biscuits we'll chew
For tis days since we've seen a stew
But with shells dropping there
There's no place to compare
With my little wet home in the Trench

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