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Quinn's PostUp Monash Valley he slipped and strainedAmongst a company of the 4th brigade To a post filled with the dead and the maimed On Gallipoli where the legend was made The rumor had spread far and wide Of Quinn's Post where a few could survive Bombs coming in like an evening tide Where only death, flies, and lice could thrive A frantic arrival, a mad dash to the trench Sniper rifle firing a welcoming chant Unburied bodies and their gut turning stench A vacant eyed digger and his mumbling chant "A day in hell doesn't equal An hour in these trenches Take me back to the Wazza With those buxom wenches" Trenches so close you can hear a Turk cough No smoking at the front, you'll get us all shot A noise to the front, jam tin bombs thrown aloft Fuses too long, the bastards returned the lot. |