Butchered to Make a Dutchman's Holiday

In a prison cell I sadly sit
 * A d––d crestfallen chappy!

And own to you I feel a bit–
 * A little bit–unhappy!

It really ain’t the place nor time
 * To reel off rhyming diction–

But yet we’ll write a final rhyme
 * While waiting cru-ci-fixion!

No matter what "end they decide–
 * Quicklime? or "b’iling ile?" sir!

We’ll do our best when crucified
 * To finish off in style, sir!

But we bequeath a parting tip
 * For sound advice as such men

Who come across in transport ship
 * To polish off the Dutchmen!

If you encounter any Boers
 * You really must not loot ’em,

And if you wish to leave these shores
 * For pity’s sake SHOOT ’EM!

And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
 * Why every British sinner

Should know the proper way to go
 * Is: " THE BOER TO DINNER!"

Let's toss a bumper down our throat,
 * Before we pass to heaven,

And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
 * We left behind in Devon."