BUTCHERED TO MAKE A DUTCHMAN'S HOLIDAY
 by Harry ("Breaker") Morant

In prison cell I sadly sit,
  A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
  A little bit - unhappy!


It really ain't the place nor time
  To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
  Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!


No matter what "end" they decide -
  Quick-lime or "b'iling ile," sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
  To finish off in style, sir!


But we bequeath a parting tip
  For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
  To polish off the Dutchmen!


If you encounter any Boers
  You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
  For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!


And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
  Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
  Is: "ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!"


Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
  Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
  We leave behind in Devon."

and the history books forgot about us

(in reply to Miserlou)