Ballads of Battle/Pick and Spade

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PICK AND SPADE

The Plaint of Tommy—aching.

Out here we call a spade a spade, and a shovel a shovel—with embellishment!

Pick and spade,Pick and spade,Five hundred miles o' trench we've made,Five hundred thousand sandbags laidWi' pick and spade.
Pick and spadePick and spade,My apron's tore, and my kilt is frayed,And the hide off my horny hands is flayed—I wish to Gawd on the farm I'd stayedWi' pick and spade.
Pick and spade,Pick and spade;What made the stoutest heart afraid?—When the S.M. shoved in his head and said: ​"The whole of the fourteenth platoon will paradeWi' pick and spade!"
Pick and spade,Pick and spade,Every man jack of us all of a trade;"Fall in the blokes o' the Navvy's Brigade,Wi' pick and spade!"
Pick and spade,Pick and spade,Thingumabob 90° in the shade;On thro' the mud and the muck we wade—A dead man's skull—and I've broken the bladeO' my bluidy old spade!
Pick and spade,Pick and spade;This is the way that the War Game's played—Bill's got hit i' the leg and is off to First Aid— ​"I wish to 'Eaven 't had been me!" I prayed:"Damn this pick and spade!"
Pick and spade,Pick and spade,I wish to Gawd that the blokes wi' red braidRound their caps, for only a spell could be madeTo paradeFor a trick o' our tradeWi' the pick and spade!
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