I went away to fight the Huns- No coward thought could bind me, I sizzled n the tropic suns, I faced the bayonets and the guns. And when in daring deeds I shone One little woman spurred me on- The girl I left behind me. Out there, in grim Gallipoli. Hard going they assigned me, I pricked the Turk up from the sea; I riddled him, he punctured me; And, bleeding in my rags, I said: "She'll meet me somewhere if I'm dead- The girl I left behind me. In France we broke the German's face- They tried with gas to blind me. In mud we bogged from front to base, And dirt was ours, but not disgrace. They carved me till I couldn't stand. Said I "Now for the Lodden, and The girl I left behind me. I came ashore, and struck the track; For dust you scarce could find me. The dear girl gave no welcome back- Shed changed her names and state, alack! "You've been a time, I must say, Ned, In finishing your old war." Said The girl I left behind me. I flung a song up to the skies. For battles gods designed me. I think of Fifi's laughing eyes, And Nami, dusk, but sweet and wise, And chortle in my heart to find How very far I've left behind- The girl I left behind me HOW HERMAN WON THE CROSS ONCE in a blue eternity they gave us dabs of rum To close the seams 'n' keep the flume in liquor-tight condition; But, soft 'n' sentimental, when the long, cold evenin's come, I'd dream me nibs was dronking' to the height of his ambition, With rights of suction over all the breweries there are, Where barrels squat, like Brahma gods, in Mother Hardy's bar. I had me fit of longin' on the night the Ger- mans came, All breathin' lioke a gas attack. The air was halcholic. We smelt 'em in the darkness, 'n' our rage went up in flame. It was envy, squealin' envy, put the ginger in the frolic. We shot 'em full of spelter, then went over it to spite The swines what drunk the liquor that was ours by common right. "If this ain't stopped, 'n' quick," sez we, "there won't be left a drop To celebrate the vict'ry when we capture their position." I'm prowlin' blind, when sharp there comes a fond, familiar plop- Swung round a post, a German in a pitiful condition Looms over me. He's sprung a cork, and shales a flask on high, 'N' sings of beer that touchin' it would make a butcher cry. Sez he: "Berloffed kamarid, you haf some drinks mit you." I meant to spike him where he waved, but altered me intention. 'N' "If you put it thus," sez I, "I don't care if I do." We had a drink together. There's a tem- por'y suspension Of hostilities to sample contraband 'n' other stuff In the enemy's possession. Which I think he's had enough.