The men are talking peace at ‘ome, but ’ere we’re talking fight,
There’s many a little debt we’ve got to square;
A sniper sent a bullet through my bunkie’s ‘ead last night,
And ’is body’s lying somewhere h’over there.
Oh, we 'ear a lot of rumors that the war is h’almost through
But Hi’m thinking that it’s only arf begun;
Every soldier in the trenches has a little debt that’s due
And Hi’m telling you it’s not a money one.
We ‘ave ’eard the bullets whistle and we’ve 'card the shrapnel sing
And we’ve listened to a dying comrade’s pleas,
And we’ve 'eard about the comfort that the days of peace will bring,
But we’ve debts that can’t be settled h’over seas.
They that 'aven’t slept in trenches, 'aven’t brothered with the worms,
‘Aven’t 'ad a bunkie slaughtered at their side,
May someday get together and arrange some sort of terms,
But it isn’t likely we’ll be satisfied.
There are debts we want to settle, ‘and to ’and, and face to face,
There are one or two Hi’ve promised that Hi’d square;
And Hi cannot ‘old my ’ead up, 'ere or in the other place,
Till Hi’ve settled for my bunkie, lying there.
Other works by Edgar Albert Guest...
