Ven der Kaiser his var bugles blow,
Und say: “Fritz, to de front you must go,”
Den it vasn’t so strange,
I vas glad for de change;
But I hope mine Katrina don’t know.
Britty soon ve’re de whole of de show,
Und like vater dose goot liquors flow;
Ven, mit vine und champaigne
Ve got drunk in Louvain,
Dere vas tings mine Katrina don’t know.
Soon already, ve fight mit de foe,
For von year, und it seems britty slow;
If I’m killed in de trench
By dose English und French
Den perhaps mine Katrina von’t know.
So dis time, ven dose hand grenades trow,
Den I tinks soon it’s time for to go;
If mine back’s full mit lead,
Not mine breast, nor mine head,
Dat’s von ting mine Katrina don’t know.
Ven dey takes me some blace down pelow,
Mit tree hundred vite peds in von row;
For dose nice English nurse
I forget dat beeg curse,
But I’m glad mine Katrina don’t know.
(Abner Cosens)
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