"THE German Fleet is coming,"

The Sunday papers say,

"And the shell will soon be humming

When they fix upon the Day."

All the Sunday experts write,

Working very late at night—

"They are coming—they'll be on you any day."

Though it's very cheery reading,

And we hear it ev'ry week;

Yet the Hun is still unheeding,

And is just as far to seek.

And it seems so unavailing

They should write and tell us so—

If the Hun is shortly sailing,

Couldn't some one let him know?

We are ready, and we're waiting,

And we know they're going to fight;

And we're just as good at hating

As the Brainy Ones that write.

But they talk of Information

They have gathered unbeknown—

That "the mighty German Nation

Is a mass of skin and bone."

And they take their affidavy

That a fight is due at sea:

Dammit—tell the German Navy,

What's the use of telling me?