When
Britain stood alone to fight the mighty German War,
And few would heed our call to arms to drive them from our
shore,
One man stood proud and said aloud "I'll take no more abuse
!
I'll go out there and do my share to cook old Adolf's goose
!"
"I'll do my bit to stir the shit!" he proudly huffed and
puffed,
"The enemy hoard that roams abroad will soon be plucked
and stuffed"
And so, across the threatened world - across the bright blue Med,
The cowardly Eytie trembled, and Jerry shook with dread.
Old Mussolini mumbled, see poor old Adolf scowl ,
To see our secret weapon, Bert Mason on the prowl !
Across the burning landscape so bravely marching forth,
To scatter the invaders to East and West and North.
To strike the foe a mortal blow - to do his dreaded worst,
The Terror of Tresparrett! The Legendary Thirst !
Across the field of battle, through village, town and land,
His rifle slung around his neck, a Whisky in his hand.
No
bar, nor pub, nor cafe was safe from hiss assault,
His practised eye could quickly spy the smallest dram of
Malt!
His nostrils twitched, began to itch, his lips began to smack,
Those Jerry's cursed that Famous Thirst that feared not fire
nor flack.
Without
a whim for life or limb, with bullets speeding by,
He'd sniff the nearest bottle out and drain the bugger dry
!
The humbled Hun, so shocked and stunned, could only stand and watch.
His eager nose would soon expose the faintest whiff of Scotch.
And
he would raid their barricades and leave the cowards quaking,
His
Eagle Eye would soon espy a snifter for the taking.
"Achtung" they'd yell, and " Bloody Hell ! Who is
this thirsty creature ?
Quick
fire the shells, He's drank the Bells and now he's on the Teachers"
Across the wilds of Africa, through Italy and Greece,
He'd overrun the cowardly Hun and do his bit for Peace !
The drinking plan of this brave man would not show any quarter -
He'd never shrink from Scottish drink with neither Ice nor
Water.
And
so my, friend we near the end of Bert's amazing tale -
The War is done, - they say we won - yet still he's on the
trail.
The Horseshoe Bar is not too far for him to march each night
And tell of his Heroics - with a glass of Black and White
!
For
fifty years he's thrilled our ears, with many a tale to tell -
Of how the Hun would cut and ran from the Cornishman from
Hell !
And many a jar, in the Horseshoe Bar, has suffered that same fate
-
"Tis men like Bert - and his mighty thirst - that made
our Country great!" |
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