A butcher, yes that was my trade But the King's shilling is now my fee A butcher I may as well have stayed For the slaughter that I see
And the preacher in his pulpit Sermoned "Go and fight, do what is right" But he don't have to hear these guns And I bet he sleeps at night
And I... And I can't stop shaking My hands won't stop shaking My arms won't stop shaking My mind won't stop shaking I want to go home Please let me go home Go home
And I have seen a friend of mine Hang on the wire like some rag toy Then in the heat the flies come down And cover up the boy
And the flies come down in Gommecourt, Thiepval, Mametz Wood, and French Verdun If the preacher, he could see those flies Wouldn't preach for the sound of guns
And I... And I can't stop shaking My hands won't stop shaking My arms won't stop shaking My mind won't stop shaking I want to go home Please let me go home Go homeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
