The Raid ©
The lights were out and shrapnel fell, as in the bunker we cowered,
Germans fired anti aircraft guns and with shrapnel we were showered.
Then screaming bombs hurtling down, and when the ground they hit,
one cut down all the surrounding grass, and blew out a ten foot pit.
Shrapnel cut through the hospital, where one of our blokes was sick,
Orderlies had heard the bombs, and did into the bunker nick.
They returned when the raid was over, but alas it was too late,
that piece of buzzing metal, had sealed it for our mate.
They buried him at the week end, and as they removed the shroud,
some of his mates asked permission, but Jerry said quiet loud.
"He will get a proper funeral, 'cos no longer can he roam,
but we don't want you on the outside, you may decide to go home!"
Teltow had a marshaling yard, and it was close to our Camp,
the Lancs Bombers were after it, but Jerry had doused the lamp.
The Bombers let their load go, but much to our disgust,
We collected some of it, and spent the next day sweeping dust.
The next evening we got potato soup, dished out from a pail
The bloody Lancs were back again, and the sirens began to wail.
"Stuff the soup!" somebody said, "Ah'm gittin' under me bed!"
and that's how it went on for weeks, and a lot of Krauts were dead.
It all ended when that nutter, with his strut and small moustache,
surveyed what once had been Berlin, was now reduced to ash.
The Russians paid a visit, and decided they would stay,
That was when sneaky Adolf, realized there was a bill to pay.
He went down to the bunker, while on top his men still fought,
They had been conned by this artist, and their courage bought.
For he couldn't paint a picture, but he could rant and rave.
But from the approaching Russians, Berlin he couldn't save.
There was a bang down in the bunker, and at last the world was rid,
of one pathetic human being, who for fame had made a bid.
But don't relax your vigil, when it is so easy to make a friend
and we don't need another Hitler, into eternity to send.