THE CONVERSATION BOOK
I 'ave a conversation book: I brought it out from 'ome,
It tells the French for knife and fork, an' likewise brush and comb;
It learns you 'ow to ast the time, the names of all the stars,
An' 'ow to order oysters an' 'ow to buy cigars.
But there ain't no shops to shop in, there ain't no grand hotels,
When you spend your days in dugouts doin' 'olesale trade in shells;
It's nice to know the proper talk for theaters an' such—
But when it comes to talkin', why, it doesn't 'elp you much.
There's all them friendy kind o' things you'd naturally say,
When you meet a fellow casual-like an' pass the time o' day—
Them little things as breaks the ice an' kind o' clears the air,
Which, when you turn the phrase book up, why, them things isn't there!
I met a chap the other day a-roostin' in a trench,
