‘Wot you ‘ome agin Son, when yer goin back,
Blimey kid yer got it soft, not like me ‘n uncle Jack,
Wern’t yer ‘ome last Chrismis, just arter that convoy run,
Life in the Andrews not the same, it’s just a currant bun.
‘Ave yer ‘eard abaht the bomin, not that it ud wurry you,
They wantid us ter work overtime, I sez stuff it, would’t you,
The bleedin pub run dry last week, it’s a soddin crime,
We don’t git many letters Son, can’t yer spare the time.
Did yer bring any ciggies ‘ome, this ratnins no fun,
I guess not much is ‘appening on the Norf Atlantic Run,
Mum sez yer got a new ship, it might do yer some good,
Whot’s the name of it agin, oh yea, the HMS bloody ‘ood.