Cicely Fox Smith
The Route March - Poem by Cicely Fox Smith
We've got our foreign service boots - we've 'ad 'em 'alf a day;
If it wasn't for the Adjudant I'd sling the brutes away;
If I could 'ave my old ones back I'd give a fortnight's pay
An' chuck 'em in the pair I got this mornin'!
We've marched a 'undred miles to-day - we've 'undreds more to go,
An' if you don't believe me, why, I'll tell you 'ow I know,
I've measured out the distance by the blister on my toe,
For I've got my foreign service boots this mornin'.
We've got our foreign service boots - I wish that I was dead;
I wish I'd got the Colonel's 'orse an' 'im my feet instead;
I wish I was a nacrobat, I'd walk upon my 'ead,
For I got my foreign service boots this mornin'.
We're 'oppin' an' we're 'obblin' to a cock-eyed ragtime tune,
Not a soul as isn't limpin' in the bloomin' 'ole balloon;
But buck you up, my com-e-rades, we're off to Flanders soon,
For we got our foreign service boots this mornin'!
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