|Do They Miss Me at Home? S.M. Grannis
Do they miss me at home, do they miss me?
'Twould be an assurance, most dear,
To know that this moment some love one
Were saying, "I wish he were here;"
To feel that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam,
Oh, yes, 'twould be joy beyond measure,
To know that they missed me at home,
To know that they missed me at home.
Do they miss me in the trench, do they miss me?
When the shells fly so thickly around?
Do they know that I've run down the hillside
To look for my hole in the ground?
But the shells they exploded so near me,
It seemed best for me to run;
And though some laughed as I crawfished,
I could not discover the fun, No,
I could not discover the fun.
I often get up in the trenches,
When some Yankee is near out of sight,
And fire a round or two at him, (Take that Yank!)
To make the boys think that I'll fight.
But when the Yanks the commence shelling,
I run to my home down the hill;
I swear my legs never will stay there,
Though all may stay there who will, yes,
Though all may stay there who will.
I'll save myself though the dread struggle,
And when the great battle is o'er
I'll claim my full ration of laurels,
As always I've done heretofore.
I'll say that I've fought them as bravely
As the best of my comrades who fell,
And swear most roundly to all others
I never had fears of a shell,
No, I never had fears of a shell.