(chorus)Forward comrades, go and chase the hun,
If you don’t get him, better try to run,
Our losses are weekly,
Our guns are weakly,
Get in the hurricane,
The speed down the lane,
Don’t rely on the commander,
His brain’s were upside-under.
(chorus)
Our generals don’t really know what war means,
Now we’re fighting like we’re at the crimeans
Ours not to reason why,
Ours but to do and die!
We fight madly to earn our rye,
And there’s no rest for our clothes to dry!
(chorus)
We receive orders no matter how dumb,
From those blokes who shifted their brain and bum!
We live harsher than pirates in slum,
‘cause we got pine-juice ‘stead of rum!
We don’t even got regular loos,
And round the camp you can hear boos!
We’re Tommies young and gay,
(Straight!) Flying makes now best of our days.
The victory is right on its way,
And we’ll make the Jerries pay!
We’ll sure see ourselves out,
And that’s goodbye to the commander lout!
Let’s go, comrades, flyin’ wing by wing,
Let’s get even, then give the morons a sting!