Stéphanie of the Mud Stained Knees

The war smelled like mustard on our meat
Which tasted like vermin from no man's land
While in the trenches we waited in line
For Stéphanie of the Mud Stained Knees,

Who bloody well foul mouthed the regiment
When Bainsworth was blown to kingdom come.
"Condolences to the mother, Son,
You're the poet. Carry on."

It was all so lewd learning our isms:
Kaiser Wilhelm imperialism,
The barons of business capitalism,
And God Save the King catechism

For which I fought, for God I thought
Loved Britain more than anyone.

"God is dead," Bainsworth said,
Although He's not dead if He never was,

But Bainsy, Old Boy, certainly is
Cockup carrion in no man's land.