Ten Lines

Today's the day, tonight's the night
When we away by pale torchlight
To tramp the track and pitch the tent
And wonder why the hell we went
When all we get are sore wet feet,
Cold pog and dehy meat to eat.
They say you get the greatest thrills
By tramping over monstrous hills
But me, I find that tends to rub,
That's why I pike inside the pub.

John Sullivan