|Bill Canepa coming home from Germany on the Victory Ship “Woodbridge”
Somewhere in England
Here the heavenly dew whips through the breeze
And you walk in mud up to your knees,
Where the sun don’t shine and the rains run free
And the fog’s so thick you cannot see,
And powered eggs that ain't worth a damn.
In town you can eat their fish and spuds
And drown the taste with a mug of suds,
You hold your breathe when you gulp it down,
It hits your stomach, and you have to frown,
For it burns your tongue, make your throat feel queer,
It’s real name is Bitters, for it’s sure not beer.
Where the prices are high and ever so long,
And all the lieutenants are always wrong,
Where you get watered scotch at four bits a snort.
And those limey gals don’t stand short.
And those pitch black nights when you stay out late,
It’s so bloody dark you can’t navigate,
There’s no transportation so you have to hike
And you get your rear knocked off by a bloody bike.
Where most of the gals are blond and bold
They think every yank’s pockets are lined with gold,
Then there’s the Piccadilly Commando’s with painted allure,
Steer clear of those or your burnt for sure.
This Isle isn’t worth saving, I don’t think,
So cut loose those balloons and let it sink,
I ain’t complaining but I’ll have you know,
That life is rougher than hell in the E.T.O.