butcher yes that was my trade
But the king's shilling is now my fee
butcher I may as well have stayed
For the slaughter that I see

And the preacher in his pulpit
Sermon: "Go and fight, do what is right"
But he don't have to hear these guns
And I'll bet he sleeps at night

And I
And I can't stop shaking
My hands won't stop shaking
My arms won't stop shaking
My mind won't stop shaking
I want to go home
Please let me go home
Go home

And I have seen a friend of mine 
Hang on the wire 
Like some rag toy 
Then in the heat the [bad word] down 
And cover up the boy
And the [bad word] down in 
Gommecourt, Thiepval, 
Mametz Wood, and French Verdun
If the preacher he could see those flies 
Wouldn't preach for the sound of guns

And I
And I can't stop shaking
My hands won't stop shaking
My arms won't stop shaking
My mind won't stop shaking
I want to go home
Please let me go home
Go home