C'est mon dernier pigeon

Though they dig down to Douaumont
From there our bullets will take them
And though they climb up to the Vaux
From there we will pull them down
We need more skulls
Kill, kill, kill
One ne passes pas
Tuer, tuer, tuer
600 men who are not afraid to die
Boches will swallow their pride
This fort is our grave, you shall not pass
Cross the Rubicon and die
Buried ourselves as deep as we could
We breathe down your neck
Build barricades inside the corridors
Our bayonets always near your throats
Major Raynal counts the dead
And prepares us for the final attack
He opened the cage and let out the bird
Our last racing homer pigeon
Decisions made out of desperation
We place the cannon in the corridor
And when it swarms with Germans
We shoot, walls splattered in blood