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Let go of that bridle,
"Old Glory's dishonored?
We back down on our word? Brave men may despise us,"
Is that what you've heard?
What's that about "pottage,
Now the summer weaves their pall.
But we mourn, who may not share In the glory of their dying,
-Oh, how sorrowful!- How fair, - Pain is fled
They, the Deathless!
"There was a little man
Who had a little
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead."
HERE was a summer night,
It came to maim and kill,
-That was the Kaiser's will
For later of its work he could boast, boast, boast.
Young women, children, men,
Were hurt and injured then,
And murdered by those cruel bombs, bombs, bombs;
But Zeppelins are made
For that purpose, and to raid
Now there was the little man,
And bullets that were made of lead,
He bravely had a try
At that monster in the sky,
But he only shot a pigeon dead, dead, dead.
In Berlin much was told,
Of the little man so bold,
And the people all said, "What a sin, sin, sin!"
While a Chancellor, far-famed,
"It is treachery," exclaimed,
"To try to destroy a Zeppelin," lin, lin.
So, if you have a gun,
Don't shoot at any Hun,
Though you should be at war with
them, them, them;
"How very base,
They will say,
And wickedness for you to resist them,
"How strange!" I hear you say; But they are made that way,