| Me husband’s in Salonika, I wonder if he’s dead,
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| I wonder if he knows he has a kid with a foxy head?
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| So right away, so right away,
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| So right away to Salonika, right away me soldier boy.
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| Now when the war is over what will the slackers do?
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| They’ll be all around the soldiers for the loan of a bob or two.
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| Now when the war is over what will the soldiers do?
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| They’ll be walking around with leg and a half and slackers they’ll have two.
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| They taxed our pound of butter, they taxed half penny bun,
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| But still with all their taxes, they can’t bate the bloody hun.
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| They taxed the Coliseum, they taxed St. Mary’s Hall,
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| Why don’t they tax the bobbies with their backs against the wall.
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| Now when the war is over what will the slackers do?
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| For every kid in America in Cork there will be two.
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| They take us out to Blarney and lays us on the grass,
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| They puts us in the family way and leaves us on our ass.
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| There’s lino on the Parlour and in the kitchen too,
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| There’s a glass back chevonier that we got from Dicky Glue.
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| Now never marry a soldier, a sailor or a marine,
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| Now keep you eyes on the Sinn Fein Boy with his yellow, white and green. |