A butcher yes that was my tradenBut the king's shilling is now my feenA butcher I may as well have stayednFor the slaughter that I seennAnd the preacher in his pulpitnSermon: Go and fight, do what is rightnBut he don't have to hear these gunsnAnd I'll bet he sleeps at nightnnAnd InAnd I can't stop shakingnMy hands won't stop shakingnMy arms won't stop shakingnMy mind won't stop shakingnI want to go homenPlease let me go homenGo homennAnd I have seen a friend of mine nHang on the wire nLike some rag toy nThen in the heat the flies come down nAnd cover up the boynAnd the flies come down in nGommecourt, Thiepval, nMametz Wood, and French VerdunnIf the preacher he could see those flies nWouldn't preach for the sound of gunsnnAnd InAnd I can't stop shakingnMy hands won't stop shakingnMy arms won't stop shakingnMy mind won't stop shakingnI want to go homenPlease let me go homenGo home