Living like rats in caves, holes and sand,
Fighting like hell, in this "no mans land"
Shelling and bombing, each day and each night,
Giving both "Jerry" and "Ities" a fright.
Surrounded on land, with our backs to the sea,
Being attacked and bombed frequently,
Smashing them up each time they attack,
And pushing them gradually, still further back.
Tobruk is held by our guns and our men,
Who fought for so long,
With odds of one to ten.
We all need a change and need it so bad,
Although we're not happy,
We're certainly not sad,
For sandstorms and fighting for ten months of it,
Entitles us all to a break for a bit.
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