While The Billy BoilsSearch(Private David Simcock, known as ‘Pink Top,’ died a hero at the Dardanelles).
I carnt berleeve ’e’s gorn —Pore ole Pink —Bullet ’it an’ shrapnel torn,In a wink,’Cos us wot knoo ’im wellSeemed ter think ’e ’ad a spellWot ud git ’im out of ’ell,Fair the dink.
’E was “Pink Top” with the mob —Good ole Pink!But with business on the job’E could think.’E never whined or wailed,As a friend ’e never failed,An’ menny a bloke ’e’s bailedOuter clink.
’E was allus Pink to us —Pushin’ Pink:In an argument or fussOr a drink.Though ’e couldn’t fight for nuts,They got all the upper-cuts,’Cos yer see, ’e ’ad the guts —Wotter yer think?
I’ve seen ’im in a brawlFull of ink,When a burly man might crawlRound the brink:He’d take one on the chin,Split a cuppler teeth an’ grin,An’ then ’e’d fight — an’ win —Pie for Pink!
’Ard of chivvy, ’e was fairSoft inside;Ev’ry kid with ginger ’airWas ’is pride.One Christmas Eve — no kid —’E slings a Gord-forbidA dinkum ’arf-a-quid’Cos it cried.
Church religion wasn’t muchGood to Pink;’E earned ’e’s kids an’ DutchFood an’ drink.An’ menny a zac ’e’s passedTo break a battler’s fast —“Bellies first an’ Bibles last,”Sed ole Pink.
W’en ’e joined I said to Pink,“Wot’s the wheeze?Are yer kiddin’ — is it drinkOr the cheese?”“No,” ’e said, “but somethin’ cameAn’ got me in the game,An’ so I bogged me frameInter these.”
’E went tearin’ at the Turk,Game an’ good;’E got in some willin’ workLike ’e would.Wot ’e ’ad ter give ’e gave,An’ in a foreign grave’E’s sleepin’ like a braveSoldier should!