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