There Was No Tipperary, It Was Just A Song.

Here, in the goddamn trenches.

Ya won’t find you no wenches.

There ain’t no prancing,

No belly dancing,

We got shit to do!

You must think we fool!

Rats running over our feet.

Death is an instant retreat.

We ain’t gonna lose this war…

This is all determined before

We all popped into this planet.

And the dudes saying that they ran it

In a big way made every day like

The last one.

Cause, hey son.

Someone gotta pay dat rent.