Grumbling Jim


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




Note: I think I have the right name (Jim Tremeer) as he is listed as a fellow POW


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