| Though they dig down to Douaumont
|
| From there our bullets will take them
|
| And though they climb up to the Vaux
|
| From there we will pull them down
|
| We need more skulls
|
| Kill, kill, kill
|
| One ne passes pas
|
| Tuer, tuer, tuer
|
| 600 men who are not afraid to die
|
| Boches will swallow their pride
|
| This fort is our grave, you shall not pass
|
| Cross the Rubicon and die
|
| Buried ourselves as deep as we could
|
| We breathe down your neck
|
| Build barricades inside the corridors
|
| Our bayonets always near your throats
|
| Major Raynal counts the dead
|
| And prepares us for the final attack
|
| He opened the cage and let out the bird
|
| Our last racing homer pigeon
|
| Decisions made out of desperation
|
| We place the cannon in the corridor
|
| And when it swarms with Germans
|
| We shoot, walls splattered in blood |