Lyr. Add: OUR LITTLE WET TRENCH IN THE WEST Tune: Little grey Home in the West
In a little wet trench in the west, Where the Germans cannot get at me, It's not very grand, and we most of us stand, And the only good thing is our tea. Over there where the big shells fall, The Huns are afraid of us- lest We should bayonet them with British phlegm, Should they visit our home in the west.
There are hands that will welcome them out, There are guns that are waiting to fire, There are eyes that look out for a chance of a bout, Though we're up to our eyes in the mire. It's a hell upon earth for us all, But we mean to be first on the ball. When the kick-off takes place, we'll be first in the race, From our little wet trench in the west.
There are dug-outs and other things new, Funk-holes, trench mortars, bombs and grenades, The only thing hot is our ration of stew, Don't we wish we were back at our trades? Never mind- we're out on the job, Though we're not paid at Union Rates, Oh! we shan't rest content till we've made a big dent In another wet tranch in the west.
Flanders, 1914. Nettleingham makes no comment about this song, which probably was never sung to any extent.