The humpy, bumpy cattle, The tiger from his lair, Go down into the battle Beside the timid hare. The elephant and camel, The ostrich and emu, Weird things, both bird and mammal, And old man Kangaroo. All vow, by fur and feather, Each with one purpose filled, To work and fight together, Until the were-wolf's killed. Meanwhile in war's arena, Unmoved by tears and groans, The buzzard and hyena Pick clean the victim's bones. JOHNNIE'S GROUCH 'Cause brother Ben has gone to fight Across the sea so far, I like to sit around at night And read about the war, But when I think me and my chums Are fighting Fritz in France, My ma asks if I've done my sums; A feller gets no chance. And when I'm marching proudly back With fifty captured Huns, My dad will say "retire Jack". That's how they spike my guns. My teacher's a conscriptionist, She calls me "Johnnie dear," But backs it with an iron fist And so I volunteer. I got kept in at school one day For lessons not half learned, And when dad asked, "Why this delay?" I said I'd been interned. And when our test exams came out And mine were extra bad, I said, "We needn't fuss about A scrap of paper, dad." When sister's chap comes round at night, And pa seems in a rage, Ma only smiles; she knows all right, It's just dad's camoflage. And when I entertain this beau While Sis puts on her dress, Sometimes I get a dime, you know; That's strategy, I guess. My dad is getting rather stout, And hates to mow the lawn; But when he gets the mower out, First thing he knows I'm gone; But when I've trouble with my pa No matter what it's for, I make an ally of my ma, And then I win the war. THE TRENCH THAT FRITZ BUILT This is the trench that Fritz built. This is the Hun who lay in the trench that Fritz built. This is the gun that killed the Hun who lay in the trench that Fritz built. This is the farmer's only son, who mans the gun that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built. This is the farmer, weary and worn, who raised the son, who mans the gun, that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built. This is she, who in youth's bright morn, was wed to the man, now weary and worn, 'tis she to whom the son was born, who in front of the battle, all tattered and torn, still mans the gun that killed the Hun, who lay in the trench that Fritz built.