The Little Piou-piou

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The Little Piou-piou
by Robert W. Service
Collected in Rhymes of a Red-Cross Man

The Little Piou-piou[edit]

(The French "Tommy").

Oh, some of us lolled in the château,
      And some of us slinked in the slum;
But now we are here with a song and a cheer
      To serve at the sign of the drum.
They put us in trousers of scarlet,
      In big sloppy ulsters of blue;
In boots that are flat, a box of a hat,
      And they call us the little piou-piou.
                Piou-piou.
The laughing and quaffing piou-piou,
The swinging and singing piou-piou;
And so with a rattle we march to the battle,
The weary but cheery piou-piou.

      Encore un petit verre de vin,
      Pour nous mettre en route;
      Encore un petit verre de vin
      Pour nous mettre en train.

They drive us head-on for the slaughter;
      We haven't got much of a chance;
The issue looks bad, but we're awfully glad
      To battle and die for La France.
For some must be killed, that is certain;
      There's only one's duty to do;
So we leap to the fray in the glorious way
They expect of the little piou-piou.
                En avant!

The way of the gallant piou-piou,
The dashing and smashing piou-piou;
The way grim and gory that leads us to glory
Is the way of the little piou-piou.

      Allons, enfants de la Patrie,
      Le jour de gloire est arrivé.

To-day you would scarce recognise us,
      Such veterans war-wise are we;
So grimy and hard, so calloused and scarred,
      So "crummy", yet gay as can be.
We've finished with trousers of scarlet,
      They're giving us breeches of blue,
With a helmet instead of a cap on our head, -
      Yet still we're the little piou-piou.
                Nous les aurons!

The jesting, unresting piou-piou;
The cheering, unfearing piou-piou;
The keep-your-head-level and fight-like-the-devil;
The dying, defying piou-piou.

      À la bayonette! Jusqu'a la mort!
      Sonnez la charge, clairons!