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And prey on your country’s defenders Instead of her foes?
Are you really French vermin, I wonder, Or when the new trenches were wonDid they count in the tale of their plunder The fleas and the lice of the Hun?Do no thoughts of my vengeance appal you When at night to the battle you rise,Are you patriots, or shall I call you Mere traitors and spies?
Nay, then I shall slay you, preferring To think you the breed of the Bosche,Who leap from your trenches preparing To feed on the vitals of Tosh.[1]When the iron of the tailor is singeing The pleats of the kilt that was mine,I like to think you will die singing The Watch on the Rhine.
- ↑ Name by which I was known in the battalion.
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