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BIVOUAC BLUES
                    As I crouch by me Hexamine heater,
                    And smell as it bubbles and stews
                    Me dixie of curried mosquiter,
                    I’m singin’ me Bivouac Blues.
                    For we marched as the dawn lightened wanly
                    Through cloudbanks with scarcely a chink;
                    But the Fairmile crept late into Manly
                    And we lorst ’alf our gear in the drink.
                    Then we cheered as we waved to the lasses
                    As their tears washed right down to their necks;
                    But the Workboat spat odorous gases,
                    As we ’eaved wot we’d et, on its decks.
                    Then our landin’, be George, was a wet ’e,
                    Though ’twere lucky we lorst not much blood,
                    For the tide bad left dry round the Jetty.
                    And we waded ashore through the mud.
                       To the Phutt-nik we ’oofed ’elter-skelter
                    To shield it from ’arm or attack;
                    Then with poncho and string built our shelter
                    As showed us by Doug. Rex and Mac.
                    Then the foe took a shot with ’is mortar
                    From an ’ill overlookin’ our flank,
                    So we ’urried to mix it, and slaughter
                    With the Bren and an ’andful of Blank.
                    Then up came a slight bit of bungle—
                    But not due, on the whole, to our chaps,
                    Who got lorst in some bog in the jungle
                    Wot wasn’t marked right in our maps.
                    Then we ran to our poncho and bed-roll,
                    Afeared what the night-time would bring,
                    And we crept to our gun-pit and fox ’ole
                    And we fenced round the Phutt-nik with string.
                    Then up to our snug little possie
                    To join with the foe in support
                    For our blood came the first Coochie mossie
                    With 'is sandflies for fighter escort.
                    And up from the barmy ’orizon
                    Came Nature in wrath once again
                    When sharp ’gainst the moon palely risin’
                    Flashed the lightnin’s and thunders of rain.

                    How we cringed and slid deep in our bed-rolls
                    As the rain soaked our blankets and ’eads
                    Ami crept cold as a frog in our fox ’oles
                    And made ice of our bodies and beds.
                    So at dawn by me ’examine ’eater
                    ’Alf frozen and drinkin’ ’ot brews
                    I’m chewin’ on curried mosquiter
                    And singin’ me Bivouac Blues
                                                      — Shakespeare.

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