Wwhen cold November blows it's bitter deadly breath,
ah'm back wi' ma mates, ma comrades in arms
knee deep in a stinkin' french trench.
Aye, there was Stewart McGregor, an Wullie McTurk,
an' bowlegged Donny fae Skye,
an' big Brig'ton Billy, an' wee Possil Gilly,
an' poor daft cockeyed McKay.
Man anythin' repulsive, outrageous, contageous, ,
McKay claimed for his own,
he got boils an' pimples,
cold sores on his dimples, sure nothin' would pass him by.
Ah ken* when an abcess popped oot in his oaxter, *
next day he got wan on each cheek,
an' if that little lot was not more than enough,
he had piles upon piles as well.
Ah mind skinnymalinky McCallister,
an' fat Cammy Cameron, fae Troon,
an' a third guy, their mate, fae that place on the Clyde
he just fell on his bunk an' died.
Aye! he was here one minute, gone the next,
such a big braw strappin' lad,
His fine brass medal goat loast in the post,
an' his lass died wi' a broken heart.
An' me, weel ah can't complain
cos ah'm sittin, drinkin' beer at the bar,
tho' I do miss me left ear, an' right eye, ye ken,
an' the other half o' a guid pair o' legs.

archie hardie, (old,16/11/03) re-done 29/9/07.

*ken, remember.*oaxter, armpit.