Biscuits Burn ( spoken word )

Passchendaele mud boys,
a month and a half of rain.
Hold hard boys
forget about the pain.

Forget the sun you fear and yearn.

We'll heat up the dugout urn.
We'll have a cup of tea.
Because of all this crap they send us
the bloody biscuits burn.

In the deep depths of the dugout
as whizz-bangs fly into mud.

Waiting for our turn
we heat up the dugout urn.
Don't fret about the fates boys,
we'll have a cup of tea.

Don't fret about the rain boys
the bloody biscuits burn.