The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din; ‘We’re sure the Kaiser loves our dear old Tanks!’ I’d like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
Lurching to rag-time tunes, or ‘Home, sweet Home’, And there’d be no more jokes in Music-halls To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.
