R
Robert Harrison
Guest
It’s ten o’clock the sirens sound
And all the family goes to ground.
Down the garden helter skelter,
Dive headfirst into the shelter.
Chairs and gasmasks follow suit
Father rolls up minus one boot
Shouting out the old refrain
Those “bl..dy” Germans are here again.
(Dad luvs to ‘av a goo at ‘em)
Our Barbara’s blartin’ in defiant stance,
While little Freddy’s messed his pants.
All’s a jumble in our dugout shelter
And Vic has caught a right old belter
From our big kid, his brother Bob,
For Vic had called him a clumsy s.d.
Dad settles down to lighting the candle
Mom sighs in despair, we’re all she can handle.
(As if the war was not bad enough)
With search lights searching with probing light
For dads bl..dy Germans coming only at night,
Us kids settled down to a night of excitement,
While poor Mom, cleanse up Willy’s excr(it)ement.
As planes drone on and bombs begin to fall,
Dad puts his false teeth against the shelters wall.
Shrapnel from exploding shells land above our head.
It’s thanks to you Mister Anderson were’ not dead.
(It’ll meck a good shed after the war)
And all the family goes to ground.
Down the garden helter skelter,
Dive headfirst into the shelter.
Chairs and gasmasks follow suit
Father rolls up minus one boot
Shouting out the old refrain
Those “bl..dy” Germans are here again.
(Dad luvs to ‘av a goo at ‘em)
Our Barbara’s blartin’ in defiant stance,
While little Freddy’s messed his pants.
All’s a jumble in our dugout shelter
And Vic has caught a right old belter
From our big kid, his brother Bob,
For Vic had called him a clumsy s.d.
Dad settles down to lighting the candle
Mom sighs in despair, we’re all she can handle.
(As if the war was not bad enough)
With search lights searching with probing light
For dads bl..dy Germans coming only at night,
Us kids settled down to a night of excitement,
While poor Mom, cleanse up Willy’s excr(it)ement.
As planes drone on and bombs begin to fall,
Dad puts his false teeth against the shelters wall.
Shrapnel from exploding shells land above our head.
It’s thanks to you Mister Anderson were’ not dead.
(It’ll meck a good shed after the war)
