A piece of mud! A piece of mud!
One hundred yards across that flood,
‘Boys that’s our goal, the end’, they say,
‘Our flag will fly from there today’.

A piece of mud! A piece of mud!
A gentle hill, worth nothing much,
A tomb where several thousand sleep,
A place where dreadful secrets keep.

A piece of mud! A piece of mud!
Is that the cause of all the blood?
The fighting, man on man, in vain?
To take the hill, we try again.

A piece of mud! A piece of mud!
One hundred yards across that flood,
‘Boys that’s our goal, the end’, they say,
‘Our flag will fly from there today’.