Oh listen well, and I will tell
of Grumbling Jim Tremeer
Who left the charm of a rural farm
And became a Grenadier
He's awful small but he's got the gall
Of a man 3 times his size
He's mostly sad but when he's mad
Blue fire shoots from his eyes
His hair is thin, he just can't grin
His age is close to forty
He's got a mug like a broken jug
His manners gruff and snorty
He can't be gay it's not his way
He's awful full of woe
He must be tough or sure enough
He'd died a year ago
We're prisoners of war a year or more
But Jim hasn't changed a bit
He looks just as dour and gloomy and sour
And each day has his grumbling fit
When his pals tell a joke he'll sit there and smoke
And his only comment is a growl
When they gave out the humour they sure made a bloomer
For they fitted him out with a howl
But I guess he'll go back with the rest of the pack
I'm sure he's too crabby to die
At the end of the war we'll hear old Jim roar
If he don't get his share of pie
He may fall in love with coddling young dove
But she'll be an old lemon, I fear
A shrewish tart who'll break the heart
Of Grumbling Jim Tremeer
(unfinished)
Note: I think I have the right name (Jim Tremeer) as he is listed as a fellow POW
