THE BLINKIN' MARINE
He ain't exactly a Tommy, he ain't exactly a Tar,
He ain't too cocky or nothing, but the best blokes never are.
They christened him leatherneck, jolly and a ruddy good bullock he's been,
For if there's war,
Afloat or ashore,
They call him a blinkin' Marine.
When poor little Belgium was wobbly and o'er run by a torrent of Huns,
Antwerp lay naked and listened wide-eyed to the bombs and the guns.
It was just a chance in a million for Willie he wasn't so green
But we weren't far wrong
When we sent him along,
That leather-necked bloke, the Marine
He's frozen in ice of the Arctic; he's sweated in African heat,
He's smiled at the welcome of Ypres,
He's popped off the guns with the fleet.
But where trouble is brewing or something wants doing,
They send for the blinkin' Marine.
They say that all dumps have a dud shell, well -- I once saw a Hun that was kind,
I once saw a Yank that had no swank and a skipper who had never been minded'
But if you saw the mole at Zeebrugge,
when machine guns were sweeping it clean.
Then you'll all agree there's no such thing, in this world, as a dud Marine.
When Earth's little canter is over
And the sun burns the colour of lead,
And the last bugle call is sounding to summon the quick and the dead,
There may be a panic by people, who don't know what discipline means,
But I'll wager my pay that the first to obey,
Will be -- the last of the blinkin' Marines.