PICK AND SPADE
The Plaint of Tommy—aching.
Out here we call a spade a spade, and a shovel a shovel—with embellishment!
Pick and spade,
Pick and spade,
Five hundred miles o' trench we've made,
Five hundred thousand sandbags laid
Wi' pick and spade.
Pick and spade,
Five hundred miles o' trench we've made,
Five hundred thousand sandbags laid
Wi' pick and spade.
Pick and spade
Pick and spade,
My apron's tore, and my kilt is frayed,
And the hide off my horny hands is flayed—
I wish to Gawd on the farm I'd stayed
Wi' pick and spade.
Pick and spade,
My apron's tore, and my kilt is frayed,
And the hide off my horny hands is flayed—
I wish to Gawd on the farm I'd stayed
Wi' pick and spade.
Pick and spade,
Pick and spade;
What made the stoutest heart afraid?—
When the S.M. shoved in his head and said:
Pick and spade;
What made the stoutest heart afraid?—
When the S.M. shoved in his head and said:
88
