Stan Brown

Now you've all 'eard the one about Sam an' 'is gun,
'Ow the sarge' knocked it out of 'is 'and... clumsy sod.
An' 'ow Sam'd refused t' pick it back up,
Well, 'e'd got on a bit of a cob.

But let me get on wi' the story,
About what 'appened later y' see.
Sam were that mad at the sergeant,
'E were burstin', so went for a wee.

Now t' privy's in t' trenches were basic,
No more than an 'ole in the ground.
An' as Sam e' were doin' 'is business,
'Is musket slipped out of 'is 'and.

Well, right in the 'ole it vanished,
Sinkin' down t' the bottom o' mire.
An' bubbles shot out o' the muzzle,
As if it were tryin' t' fire.

Sam looked in the 'ole, in a bit of a tiz,
An' got out 'is packet o' cigs.

  The Sarge'd go mad if 'e knew what 'e'd done,
Then 'e spotted this bit of a twig.

It were long an' quite thin, with a wide bit at th'end,
An' an idea it shot into 'is 'ead.
If 'e scraped off the bark, an' painted it black,
'E'd use that for 'is gun instead.

'E thought, 'I'll stay at the back when the Captain shouts charge,
An' I'll 'ide it as best as I can.'
Then t' sergeant, 'e shouted 'im over.
'I've a job 'ere for you young Sam!'

Now Sam and t' sergeant, they jus' didn't get on,
As you've all 'eard before no doubt.
An' 'e told Sam t' get 'imself ready,
'Cos 'e needed somebody t' scout.

'Sam,' 'e sez, 'we're attackin' at dawn,
An' need t' know where the enemy's camped.
An' 'ow many blokes they've got on their side,
So let us know as soon as yer can.'

Sam sez, 'Yer what? Why've yer picked me?
The buggers might shoot me stone dead!'

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