Look, we are digging a large round hole, _With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_ To put the abominable tyrant in-- The Minister, the Master, the Mandarin; And never a bloom above shall blow But scarlet-runners in a row to show _That this is the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze, With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_ Who do we put in the large round hole, _With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee?_ The blackcoat, the parasite, the keeper of the laws, Who works with his head instead of with his paws; The doctor, the parson, the pressman, the mayor, The poet and the barrister, they'll all be there, _Snug in the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze, With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_ Dig, dig, dig, it will have to be big, _With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_ One great cavity, and then one more For the bones of the SECRET'RY OF STATE FOR WAR; The editor, the clerk and, of course, old THOMAS, We wring their necks and we fling them from us _Into the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze, With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_ Peace and Brotherhood, that's our line, _With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_ But nobody, of course, can co-exist In the same small planet with a Communist; Man is a brotherhood, that we know, And the whole damn family has got to go _Plomp in the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze, With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_ Too many people are alive to-day, _With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_ Red already is the Red, Red Sea With the blood of the brutal Boorzh-waw-ze, And that's what the rest of the globe will be-- _Believe me!_ We'll stand at last with the Red Flag furled* In a perfectly void vermilion world With the citizens (if any) who have _not_ been hurled _Into the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze, With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i ... Honk, honk!_ A. P. H. [* NOTE.--In the Somerset version the word is "_un_furled," which makes better sense but scans even worse than the rest of the song. I have therefore followed the Gloucestershire tradition.] * * * * * SOURCES OF LAUGHTER. "It will have to be a great deal funnier than that before it's funny," said George. This represented the general opinion, though Edna, who has a good heart, professed to find it diverting already. Unfortunately she has no sense of humour. Jerry, the writer, claimed exemption on the ground of being the writer, though he did not see why his article should not remove gravity (as they say in _The Wallet of Kai Lung_) from other people quite as effectually as the silly tosh of A. and B. and C., naming some brilliant and successful humorists. The company then resolved itself into a Voluntary Aid Detachment. When they met again at tea Edna made the suggestion of a sprinkling of puns. "We've got rather beyond that, I think," said the victim with dignity.