THE A.S.C. to the war have gone,

At the base at Havre you will find them,

Their shining spurs they have girded on,

But they left their bayonets behind them.

" What's the sense," cried the A.S.C.,

" Of taking to France the damn things?

Their only use, it seems to me,

Is to open the infantry's jam-tins."

The A.S.C. were driving by

When a German shell came over.

At once, determined to do or die,

They one and all took cover.

Their letters home made much of that shell,

And the guns that the Huns turned on them,

They did not mention that the pip-squeak fell

At least a mile beyon' them.

Then thank the Lord for the A.S.C.,

The pride and joy of the nation,

Who bring our bacon and jam and tea,

And our Maconochie ration.

Here's good luck to the A.S.C.,

Though if they'd never come, boys,

I bet we'd all get strawberry,

Instead of apple and plum, boys.