The others trucked the wounded to a hentrance
   up a lane. 
I sez:  “Sich conduck’s shameful!” Bill-o
  took to ease his pain
One long ’un and another.  The conductor
   picked his brand;
The gripman lent his countenance to wot he
   ’ad in ’and. 
     And when they moved their stand ’twas
       Sam
     Lay pale ‘n’ peaceful in the pram,
‘N’ twenty flappers stroked his paw, ‘n’ said
   he was a lamb.

The gathered in the tokens and they blooed
   ’em as above,
While Jim-o done the hinvalid ’oom Sammy
   had to shove. 
Sez I:  “No noble ‘eroes what’s bin fightin’
   for their king
Should smirch theirselves by doin’ this dis-
   ’onerable thing.” 
     But fine old gents ‘n’ donahs prim
     They stopped ‘n’ slid the beans to Jim. 
You betcher life I let ’im hear just what I
   though of ’im.

Nine, g.m. at St. Kilder, saw the finish of the
   prowl. 
Each ‘ad his full-’n’-plentv, and was blowin’
   in the tow’l. 
As neither bloke cud stand alone, they leaned
   ‘n’ argufied
Which was the patient sufferer oo’s turn it was
  to ride. 
     Each ’eld a san’wich and a can. 
     Sez I:  “This shouldn’t ’ave began-
’Tain’t conduck wot it worthy of a soldier and
   a man.”

I cud ‘a’ cried with injured pride.  Afore a
   push the three
Got scrappin’, vague ‘n’ foolish, which the
   cripple boy should be. 
Sam slips his scientific leg, ‘n’ flings it in the
   drain-
“I’ll auto ’ome,” he sez, “or never see me
   ’ome again.” 
     But I am thinkin’ ’ard oo he
     Tucked ’elpiess in the pram might be. 
Comes sudden reckerlection.  Great Gohan-
   ners, it is me!

REPAIRED

Hauled I was from out the tip
   Fritz made with his demonstration,
All broke up, a fractured hip
In me Darby Kell a rip
   Settn’ up a cool sensation
   Like excessive ventilation

One ’and cluttered up a treat-
   On me oath you wouldn’t know it
From a ’andsome plate of meat. 
They had sorter pied me feet,
   And a bullet of the foe hit
   Where no decent bloke could show it.

’Arf a year they’ve botched me now;
   Ev’ry scientific schemer
In the cor’ has faked me prow,
Soled ‘n’ heeled a bloke somehow-
   Gawd, the last one was a screamer. 
   Wirin’ up me flamin’ femur!

Comes a guy and pipes you square,
  Gogglin’ at you through his glasses,
Swings you in the barber’s chair,
Tilts you this end up with care,
   Lets you have a whiff of gasses
   Chattin’ off-hand with the lasses.

Then he slices clean ‘n’ swift,
   Like a cobbler cuts his leather,
Gives the splintered knob a lift-
S’elp me tater, it’s a gift
   How they glues you all together,
   Sayin’ it’s bin nicer weather!