| What did I do in the great world war
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| I learned to peel potatoes and scrub the floor
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| I watched the British sunset
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| Go down behind the skyline forevermore
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| I learned to ride as soldiers to the line
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| For days and nights in cattle trucks of swine
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| I learned to shave myself in tea
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| With the fragments of a mirror on my knee, ohh
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| So much for what I did
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| Not for what I’ve done
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| I never played a hero
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| But I faced a gun
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| This is World War I
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| Your fallen son
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| I’m a hundred years young
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| I learned to dodge the flying lumps of led
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| To keep the earth between the sniper and my head
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| Where life is one hard labour and a soldier gets his rest
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| When they lay him in the daisies with a puncture in his chest
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| So much for what I did
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| Not for what I’ve done
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| I never played a hero
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| But I faced a gun
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| This is World War I
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| Your fallen son
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| I’m a hundred years young
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| Ooh, sweet mother don’t you cry
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| Ooh, this will be the day that I die
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| I gathered souvenirs for home that I hoped to send
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| I carried around for months just to dump them in the end
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| Where all is done in darkness, where all is still in day
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| Where living men are buried and the dead unburied lay
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| So much for what I did
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| Not for what I’ve done
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| I never played a hero
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| But I faced a gun
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| This is World war one
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| And its just begun
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| This is world war one
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| Your fallen son
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| This is world war one
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| I’m just a hundred years young |