War Song

Sing a song o' Hempire
Mother's took a fit,
Nasty Germans buildin' ships,
An' never mentioned it.
Buildin' beastly warships,
Quite a tidy few;
Mother's got an awful start
Baby's got it too.

The King was in the Customs House,
But couldn't find a penny ;
The Lords were at their country seats
And didn't offer any;
A millyun paupers mooned about
With nothin' much to eat,
When down comes Australyer
With a Dreadnought fer the fleet.
Sing a song o' Warships,
'Orrid ole Bulow,
Layin' down 'is Dreadnoughts
An' didn't let us know
Didn't advertise it,
Till the Cablegram
Spread the awful tidings
An' the Empire shouted, 'Damn!'

Sing a song o' Hempire,
Mother's up a tree;
But the Melbourne Stock exchange
'As swore to set 'er free.
Does the German caitiff
Build upon the sly?
Then seventeen suburban may'rs
Will know the reason why!

Seventeen suburban may'rs
Of the Bulldog Breed
Fly to succor Hingland
In her hour of need.
What of 'Constant Reader'?
'Pro Bono Publico'?
Will 'Subscriber' see old Hingland
Flabbergasted? No!!

A reeiy, trooly battleship,
  With guns an' things galore,
And splendid sails of calico
From MacMillan's store
The Stock Exchange will float it
On a sea of gush.
Wot's two millyun quid to us?
We don't care a rush!

(But - whisper - little mother,
If, later on, some day,
We want ter sorter float a loan,
To 'elp us on our way
Borrer of it back, like
After wot 'as passed,
Don't you go an' crool our pitch,
Like you did the last.)

Sing a song o' Britain's fleet
('Ow the Tories raged!)
That's goin' to guard Australyer
(If not otherwise engaged).
Sing of 'Umpty Dumpty
 'Im that 'ad the fall.
Rob Australian Peter
To pay old Hinglish Paul.

Sing o' topsy-turvey;
Sing of inside-out,
Of back-to-front and upside-down
An' t'other way about.
Spend ten bloomin' millyun,
Buy yer ships galore,
An' send them all to Hingland
To guard Australyer's shore.

Sing a song o' Hempire!
We've got ter guard 'the heart.'
If it gets a limb lopped off,
That ain't a vital part.
Learn ter think Imperially
Shriek with courage grim
Fer 'the heart' must be protected
Tho' it's tough if we're the limb.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)


Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

Select another language:

  • - Select -
  • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
  • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
  • Español (Spanish)
  • Esperanto (Esperanto)
  • 日本語 (Japanese)
  • Português (Portuguese)
  • Deutsch (German)
  • العربية (Arabic)
  • Français (French)
  • Русский (Russian)
  • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
  • 한국어 (Korean)
  • עברית (Hebrew)
  • Український (Ukrainian)
  • اردو (Urdu)
  • Magyar (Hungarian)
  • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
  • Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Italiano (Italian)
  • தமிழ் (Tamil)
  • Türkçe (Turkish)
  • తెలుగు (Telugu)
  • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
  • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
  • Čeština (Czech)
  • Polski (Polish)
  • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Românește (Romanian)
  • Nederlands (Dutch)
  • Ελληνικά (Greek)
  • Latinum (Latin)
  • Svenska (Swedish)
  • Dansk (Danish)
  • Suomi (Finnish)
  • فارسی (Persian)
  • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
  • հայերեն (Armenian)
  • Norsk (Norwegian)
  • English (English)

Discuss this Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis poem with the community:


Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:


"War Song" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 1 Apr. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/6810/war-song>.

We need you!

Help us build the largest poetry community and poems collection on the web!

Our favorite collection of

Famous Poets


Thanks for your vote! We truly appreciate your support.