The night I left my father said —
You'll go and do some stupid thing:
You've no more sense in that fat head
Than Silly Billy Witterling.

Not sense to come in when it rains —
Not sense enough for that you've got.
You'll get a bullet through your brains
Before you know, as like as not.

And now I'm lying in the trench,
And shells and bullets through the night
Are raining in a steady drench —
I'm thinking the old man was right.