Beef an' blood gravy's fightin' food,
Not milk—but, all the same,
I came to see there ain't no good
In this crook langwidge game.
An' so, a little vow I made,
An' joined their swell "Clean-Lip Brigade."
'Twas 'ard! But sternly I pursoo'd
Me course; an' wore a frown
Thro' swallerin' me speech unchewed,
An' chokin' curse-words down.
Oh dear! It was a dreadful stunt!
Then, Gracious me! I hit the Front!
A feller in the firin' line,
Tied up with sich a gag,
Who has to curse by look an' sign,
He fair gets out the rag.
An' so, I sez, each time I shoots,
"I'll take it out of you, you ——broots!"
I don't care what them goodies say,
It's cruel, fightin' dumb!
To curse a bit, once in a way,
Relieves your feelin's some.
I kills four men in fair, clean fight,
An' seven extra out uv spite.
