Butchered to make a dutchman'S holiday

In prison cell I sadly sit,
   A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
   A little bit - unhappy!

It really ain't the place nor time
   To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
   Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!

No matter what 'end' they decide -
   Quick-lime or 'b'iling ile,' sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
   To finish off in style, sir!

But we bequeath a parting tip
   For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
   To polish off the Dutchmen!

If you encounter any Boers
   You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
   For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!

And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
   Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
   Is: 'ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!'

Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
   Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: 'The trim-set petticoat
   We leave behind in Devon.'

At its end the manuscript is described -
   The Last Rhyme and Testament of Tony Lumpkin -