The Squire, on his prancing steed,
Is going to the hunt,
But I suggest to you, good sir,
You’re needed at the front,
We know the foxes steal our hens,
Still, we’ll not use our guns;
So leave fox hunting for a time
And go and hunt the Huns.
You’re wanted at the front, good sir,
Your steed, and money, too;
This war will be a costly job,
But we must see it through.
I know you would sweet peace prefer
Than facing German guns,
But this war has been thrust on us,
So go and hunt the Huns.
If they should reach old England’s shores;
My! won’t there be a fuss;
They’d take your steeds, your land, your gold;
What would become of us?
They’d burn our homes and slay our men,
And if I’m not mistaken,
We women folk would have to fight,
Or see our children taken.
So go and fight the Huns, good sir,
And drive them to Berlin;
Then when you reach the famous town,
Why, won’t there by a din!
And won’t we have a day at home,
We’ll shout Hurrah! Well done!
The day you send the message home
“We’ve hunted the last Hun.”
|
