THE TOT OF RUM
93
(A thimble would hold all the lot)—
We really shouldn't oughter;
But if they'd got to stand in mud
And water to the knee,
I guess they'd take their tot o' rum
(I wish to Gawd that Sarg. would come)—
The very same as me.
We really shouldn't oughter;
But if they'd got to stand in mud
And water to the knee,
I guess they'd take their tot o' rum
(I wish to Gawd that Sarg. would come)—
The very same as me.
You've been ten days in the front line,
Strafed soundly by the Hun,
You're short o' grub, you're short o' sleep,
The water's standing three foot deep,
You're feeling nearly done;
"Stand-to!" You shiver with the cold
You've no vitalit-ie—
It's then you bless the tot o' rum—
(I wish to Gawd that Sarg. would come,
It's almost half-past three !)
Strafed soundly by the Hun,
You're short o' grub, you're short o' sleep,
The water's standing three foot deep,
You're feeling nearly done;
"Stand-to!" You shiver with the cold
You've no vitalit-ie—
It's then you bless the tot o' rum—
(I wish to Gawd that Sarg. would come,
It's almost half-past three !)
It's like a warm hand round your heart,
It's like a brazier's glow;
It trickles through your trembling lips,
It thrills you to your finger-tips,
And thaws your frozen toe.
It's like a brazier's glow;
It trickles through your trembling lips,
It thrills you to your finger-tips,
And thaws your frozen toe.
