Munitions worker - part 4

It’s outrageous you know restricting us to when and for how long we can go to the loo. One of our girls has written a poem about the whole thing, it’s entitled “All tickets Please!” Hurrah for old England, the land of the free We all have tickets for butter, for sugar, for tea; Also tickets for breakfast, for pudding and dinner, You can take it for granted- the word of a sinner. We have now reached the limit, I’m sure you’ll agree When I tell you we’ve got tickets to P> When the wars at an end, and they’ve done with making shells, And our Tommie’s return from the Trenches like swells, And the Kaiser is hanged on a sour apple tree With his lunatic son, we shall go on a spree; But Tommie will swear and I think you’ll agree- Should he find we’ve been forced to have tickets to P. Dear friends to a close I must now bring this rhyme, As I’ve wasted enough of your valuable time; We shall stick to our work till this blooming war’s o’er And then I expect you will want us no more, But while we remain we shall never agree To the order that WE MUST have tickets to P!