<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"></SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> Funk </h2>
<p>When your marrer bone seems 'oller,<br/>
And you're glad you ain't no taller,<br/>
And you're all a-shakin' like you 'ad the chills;<br/>
When your skin creeps like a pullet's,<br/>
And you're duckin' all the bullets,<br/>
And you're green as gorgonzola round the gills;<br/>
When your legs seem made of jelly,<br/>
And you're squeamish in the belly,<br/>
And you want to turn about and do a bunk:<br/>
For Gawd's sake, kid, don't show it!<br/>
Don't let your mateys know it—<br/>
You're just sufferin' from funk, funk, funk.<br/>
<br/>
Of course there's no denyin'<br/>
That it ain't so easy tryin'<br/>
To grin and grip your rifle by the butt,<br/>
When the 'ole world rips asunder,<br/>
And you sees yer pal go under,<br/>
As a bunch of shrapnel sprays 'im on the nut;<br/>
I admit it's 'ard contrivin'<br/>
When you 'ears the shells arrivin',<br/>
To discover you're a bloomin' bit o' spunk;<br/>
But, my lad, you've got to do it,<br/>
And your God will see you through it,<br/>
For wot 'E 'ates is funk, funk, funk.<br/>
<br/>
So stand up, son; look gritty,<br/>
And just 'um a lively ditty,<br/>
And only be afraid to be afraid;<br/>
Just 'old yer rifle steady,<br/>
And 'ave yer bay'nit ready,<br/>
For that's the way good soldier-men is made.<br/>
And if you 'as to die,<br/>
As it sometimes 'appens, why,<br/>
Far better die a 'ero than a skunk;<br/>
A-doin' of yer bit,<br/>
And so—to 'ell with it,<br/>
There ain't no bloomin' funk, funk, funk.<br/></p>
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