—— OFF FOR THE TRENCHES. ——
Reading edition
When a certain regiment of American doughboys departed from its billets in a little town back of the front and marched away to our trenches in Lorraine, this poem was found tacked up on a billet door:—
By the rifle on my back, By my old and well-worn pack, By the bayonets we sharpened in the billets down below, When we're holding to a sector, By the howling, jumping hector, Colonel, we'll be Gott-Strafed if the Blank-teenth lets it go.
And the Boches big and small, Runty ones and Boches tall, Won't keep your boys a-squatting in the ditches very long; For we'll soon be busting through, sir, God help Fritzie when we do, sir— Let's get going, Colonel Blank, because we're feeling mighty strong.