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 /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/funk/
