r mine own.
I taught you how to use God's church, I built the path you trod,
I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardnership with God.
I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you every hour
Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust for power.

I made an army for you then, the peer of all war lords,
I smiled the night you went away to visit Norway fiords.
I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew the Austrian claims,
I knew that German gold would guide the mad assassin's aims.
I knew the schemes that you had planned, the one that nothing curbs,
I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the Serbs.
My brain ne'er hatched a finer scheme, your armies marking time
And then the rape of Belgium, your premier man-sized crime.

And if one deals in hellish schemes, that one must stamp your worth,
You made a shambles of that land, you moved hell up on earth.
The cries of mangled maidens, the mutilated child,
The tears of butchered mothers, would drive an earth man wild,
And thru it all proclaiming, you were the tool of God--
O pardner in this orgy, no one suspected fraud.
You butchered, maimed and pillaged, hell never saw such sights
As the Prussian Guard remembers, on those first Belgian nights.

O shades of maddened Nero and his early Christian fires,
Could he have been in Belgium and have seen your funeral pyres!
Could he have seen your orgies he would have wept for shame
But had he your fiendish cunning, he might have done the same.
But the hated Saxon balked you and the desperate fighting Frank
Hurled back our super devils and took us on the flank.
Your inbred tainted offspring lost his chances at Verdun
Where curtained steel just saved the world from the grip of brutal Hun.

But Wilhelm, you are crafty, you are mine own I ween
Your fertile brain had brought to life the hell-born submarine,
You killed the unarmed merchantmen, you murdered in the dark,
You sent the child and mother to feed your friend the shark.
The world grew sick with wonder, no voice was raised to laud
And still you did it in your name, the name of you and God.
Where you have trod the world is dead, no sign of life or mirth,
You beat me, Bill, you beat my hell, with this of yours on earth.

You won hell's admiration and of all of mine own folk
When you paired off with the ghastly Turk, that was a master stroke.
And all the things you did before, just now seem weak and tame
Since you launched that Dardanelles campaign of pillage, lust and