They say that I've left her a present,
Result of our one passionate night.
They say she's so big with child
Which really just can't be right;
But I promised to make her mine
Promised to take her to wife
If I get out of these bloody trenches
To live out the rest of my life.
It's over the top in the morning.
Just another bloody great push
For maybe a few yards of topsoil.
I don't see any need for the rush.
When I look out front all I see
Is a great sea of trampled mud;
Bet its good farmland in future,
It's soaked up so much of our blood.
They say it's for God King and Country
But what I can't understand
The Boche has on his belt buckle
For God and the Fatherland;
But there ain't no God in these trenches.
He's packed up his bags and he's gone,
Leaving those back at headquarters
To murder us all, every one.
Our Subbie is coming towards us.
We all know what he'll say.
He'll mutter a few words of hope
As dawn turns night into day.
His whistle's there in his hand.
He'll blow and before it stops
Its God help us poor squaddies,
For we're up and we're over the top.