# The Moods of Ginger Mick/Rabbits

"Life in a burrer aint no good to me."
Rabbits
"AR! Gimme fights wiv foemen I kin see, To upper-cut an' wallop on the jor. Life in a burrer ain't no good to me. 'Struth! This ain't war! Gimme a ding-dong go fer 'arf a round, An' you kin 'ave this crawlin' underground.
"Gimme a ragin', 'owlin', tearin' scrap, Wiv room to swing me left, an' feel it land. This 'idin', sneakin' racket makes a chap Feel secon'-'and. Stuck in me dug-out 'ere, down in a 'ole, I'm feelin' like I've growed a rabbit's soul."
Ole Ginger's left the 'orspital. it seems; 'E's back at Anzac, cursin' at the game; Fer this 'ere ain't the fightin' uv 'is dreams; It's too dead tame. 'E's got the oopizootics reely bad. An' 'idin' in a burrer makes 'im mad.
​'E sort o' takes it personal, yeh see. 'E used to 'awk 'em fer a crust, did Mick. Now, makin' 'im play rabbits seems to be A narsty trick. To shove 'im like a bunny down a 'ole It looks like chuckin' orf, an' sours 'is soul.
"Fair doos," 'e sez. "I joined the bloomin' ranks To git away frum rabbits: thinks I'm done Wiv them Australian pests, an' 'ere's their thanks: They makes me one! An' 'ere I'm squattin', scared to shift about; Jist waitin' fer me little tail to sprout.
"Ar, strike me up a wattle! but it's tough! But 'ere's the dizzy limit, fer a cert— To live this bunny's life is bad enough. But 'ere's reel dirt: Some tart at 'ome 'as sent, wiv lovin' care, A coat uv rabbit-skins fer me to wear!
"That's done it! Now I'm nibblin' at me food, An' if a dawg shows up I'll start to squeal. I s'pose I orter melt wiv gratichude: 'Tain't 'ow I feel. She might 'a' fixed a note on wiv a pin: 'Please, Mister Rabbit, yeh fergot yer skin!'
​"I sees me finish!... War? Why, this ain't war! It's ferritin'! An' I'm the bloomin' game. Me skin alone is worth the 'untin' for— That tart's to blame! Before we're done, I've got a silly scare, Some trappin' Turk will catch me in a snare.
"'E'll skin me, wiv the others 'e 'as there, An' shove us on a truck, an' bung us 'round Constantinople at a bob a pair— 'Orl fresh an' sound! 'Eads down, 'eels up, 'e'll 'awk us in a row Around the 'arems, 'owlin' 'Rabbee-oh!'
"But, dead in earnest, it's a job I 'ate. We've got to do it, an' it's gittin' done; But this soul-dopin' game uv sit-an'-wait It ain't no fun. There's times I wish, if we weren't short uv men. That I wus back in 'orspital agen.
"Ar, 'orspital! There is the place to git. If I thort Paradise wus 'arf so snug I'd shove me 'ead above the parapit An' stop a slug. But one thing blocks me playin' sich a joke: I want another scrap before I croak.
​"I want it bad. I want to git right out An' plug some josser in the briskit—'ard. I want to 'owl an' chuck me arms about, An' jab, an' guard, An' swing, an' upper-cut, an' crool some pitch, Or git passed out meself—I don't care w'ich.
"There's some blokes 'ere they've tumbled to a stunt Fer gittin' 'em the spell that they deserves. They chews some cordite when life at the front Gits on their nerves. It sends yer tempracher clean out uv sight, An', if yeh strike a simple doc, yer right.
"I tries it once. Me soul 'ad got the sinks. Me thorts annoyed me, an' I 'ad the joes, I feels like no one loves me, so I thinks, Well, Mick, 'ere goes! I breaks a cartridge open, chews a bit. Reports I'm sick, an' throws a fancy fit.
"Me lovin' sargint spreads the gloomy noos, I gits paraded; but, aw, 'Struth! me luck! It weren't no baby doc I interviews. But some ole buck Wiv gimblet eyes. 'Put out yer tongue!' 'e 'owls. Then takes me temp, an' stares at me, an' growls.
​"'Well, well,' 'e sez. 'Wot is yer trouble, lad?' I grabs me tummy 'ard, an' sez I'm ill. 'You are,' sez 'e. 'Yeh got corditis, bad. Yeh need a pill. Before yeh go to sleep,' 'e sez, 'to-night, Swaller the bullet, son, an' you'll be right.'
"'Ow's that fer rotten luck? But orl the same, I ain't complainin' when I thinks it out. I seen it weren't no way to play the game, This pullin' out. We're orl uv us in this to see it thro'. An' bli'me, wot we've got to do, we'll do.
"But 'oles an' burrers! Strike! An' this is war! This is the bonzer scrappin' uv me dreams! A willin' go is wot I bargained for, But 'ere it seems I've died, someway, an' bin condemned to be Me own Wile Rabbee fer eternity.
"But 'orspital! I tell yeh, square an' all. If I could meet the murderin' ole Turk 'Oo's bullet sent me there to loaf an' sprawl, An' dodge me work, Lord! I'd shake 'an's wiv 'im, an' thank 'im well Fer givin' me a reel ole bonzer spell.
​"'E might 'a' made it jist a wee bit worse. I'd stand a lot uv that before I'd scream. The grub wus jist the thing; an', say, me nurse! She wus a dream! I used to treat them tony tarts wiv mirth; But now I know why they wus put on earth.
"It treated me reel mean, that wound uv mine; It 'ealed too quick, considerin' me state. An' 'ere I am, back in the firin' line Gamblin' wiv Fate. It's like two-up: I'm 'eadin' 'em this trip; But lookin', day be day, to pass the kip.
"You tell Doreen, yer wife, 'ow I am chock Full to the neck wiv thanks fer things she sends. Each time I shoves me foot inside a sock I bless sich friends. I'm bustin' wiv glad thorts fer things she did; So tell 'er I serloots 'er, an' the kid.
"Make 'im a soljer, chum, when 'e gits old. Teach 'im the tale uv wot the Anzacs did. Teach 'im 'e's got a land to love an' hold. Gawd bless the kid! But I'm in 'opes when 'is turn comes around They'll chuck this style uv rootin' underground.
​"We're up agin it, mate; we know that well. There ain't a man among us wouldn't lob Over the parapit an' charge like 'ell To end the job. But this is war; an' discipline—well, lad, We sez we 'ates it; but we ain't too bad.
"Glory an' gallant scraps is wot I dreamed, Ragin' around an' smashin' foemen flat; But war, like other things, ain't wot it seems. So 'stid uv that, I'm sittin' in me dug-out scrawlin' this. An' thankin' Gawd when shells go by—an' miss.
"I'm sittin' in me dug-out day be day— It narks us; but Australia's got a name Fer doin' little jobs like blokes 'oo play A clean, straight game. Wiv luck I might see scrappin' 'fore I'm done, Or go where Craig 'as gone, an' miss the fun.
"But if I dodge, an' keep out uv the rain, An' don't toss in me alley 'fore we wins; An' if I lobs back 'ome an' meets the Jane 'Oo sent the skins— These bunnies' overcoats I lives inside— I'll squeal at 'er, an' run away an' 'ide.
​"But, torkin' straight, the Janes 'as done their bit. I'd like to 'ug the lot, orl on me pat! They warms us well, the things they've sewed an' knit: An' more than that— I'd like to tell them dear Australian tarts The spirit uv it warms Australian 'earts."