Our lady on the Bleeding Ground, her satin gown is trailing in the mud. She
Ducks a football cos it's Christmas Day and the shells are duds. And Tom
And Jerry drink their Bovril, crawl out from the trenches swap their wives
And swap addresses til Our Lady's calling time. Then back in line behind
Your pistols. Swines in schnitzels. Zyklon Tea. You hear him plea, you
Watch him grovel. Give it to him right between the eyes...