Hi Alan,
For the benefit of those who haven't seen this poem on the Internet, here is the complete version as originally published in the American Field Service Bulletin during WWI.
Hunka Tin
You may talk about your voitures
When you're sitting round the quarters,
But when it comes to getting blesses in-
Take a little tip from me,
Let those heavy motors be,
Pin your faith on Henry F's old Hunka Tin.
Give her essence and de l'eau,
Crank her up and let her go,
You back firin', spark-plug foulin' Hunka Tin.
The paint is not so good,
And no doubt you'll find the hood
Will rattle like a boiler shop en route;
The cooler's sure to boil
And perhaps she's leakin' oil;
Then often times the horn declines to toot.
But when the night is black,
And there's blesses to take back,
And they hardly give you time to take a smoke;
It's might good to feel,
When you're sitting at the wheel,
She'll be running when the bigger cars are broke.
After all the wars are past,
And we're taken home at last,
To our reward of which the preacher sings;
When those ukulele sharps
Will be strumming golden harps,
And the aviators all have reg'lar wings.
When the Kaiser is in hell,
With the furnace drawing well,
Paying for his million different kinds of sin,
If they're running short of coal,
Show me how to reach the hole,
And I'll cast a few loads down with Hunka Tin.
Yes, Tin, Tin, Tin!
You exasperating puzzle, Hunka Tin!
I've abused you and I've flahyed you
But by Henry Ford who made you,
You are better than a Packard, Hunka Tin!
(Blesses was the term used for wounded French soldiers.)
Cheers,
Dick