O hear the song of the R.T.O. With his “40 Hommes or 8 Chevaux.” He works in the day and he works at night, For the men must go or the men can’t fight. They call him here and they call him there, They ask him Why and they ask him Where. O his cars don’t come, but his cars must go, Be it wet or dry or rain or snow, If they call for Hommes or they want Chevaux. Thus goes the song of the R.T.O. O it’s “How we love you, R.T.O., With your ’40 Hommes or 8 Chevaux’! Say, whadja do before the war— Work in a packin’ house? O Lor’! We got an army in here now, And we ain’t got room for our packs and chow. They’s 40 Hommes aboard, you KNOW, So come ahead with your 8 Chevaux, And shout ‘Allez’ and away we’ll go. O how we LOVE you, R.T.O.!” Heaven help the R.T.O. With his “40 Hommes or 8 Chevaux”! He’s got five hundred men to load On a few small cars and a busy road. O the war won’t end if he don’t make good, ’Cause he’s got to send ’em the men and food, Be it wet or dry or rain or snow. And they call for Hommes or they want Chevaux, There’s hell to pay if the stuff don’t go, So Heaven help the R.T.O. A. P. BOWEN, Sgt., R.T.O. THE MACHINE GUN Anywhere and everywhere, It’s me the soldiers love, Underneath a parapet Or periscoped above; Backing up the barrage fire, And always wanting more; Chewing up a dozen disks To blast an army corps; Crackling, spitting, demon-like, Heat-riven through and through, Fussy, mussy Lewis gun, Three heroes for a crew! Advocate of peace am I, Which same some won’t admit; Say! I’d like to see that crowd Come out and do their bit! Out to where the boys have died, That peace on earth might come Sooner than if He above Had based His hopes on some! Whimper not, my friends, when men Have holy work to do, Tuning up the Vickers gun, Three heroes for a crew!