Rosie, I wish that you were hereI miss you so muchRosie, my dearRosie, I miss the hell that we raisedAnd the trails that we blazedI miss the other half of meMy RosieRosie, we played our song to deathNow the piano's out of tuneAnd the singer's out of breathRosie, do you love me stillRosie, my little daffodilI was a lanky privateWho thought he knew it allSwept off his feet by a right Bobby DazzlerThe RAF and the WRENLike old mother hensStrutting through our lives going.....Quack, quack, quackPrivate who?Quack, quack, quackHe's no good for youThose were the yearsWhen beer was beerAnd you knew where you stoodThe laughing stock of the neighborhoodDown at the local PalaisMe and the lads were having a knees upI turns round to HarryWhat's that noise rattling the tea cupsBetter get your head downSounds like another V.1.Everyone was screaming and shoutingAnd making the most appalling noiseSo not unnaturallyI popped out to see exactly what had happenedSomebody said that the bombHad missed the Palais by inchesBut had totally destroyed the next streetThe next streetWe live in the next streetRosie, RosieRosie, I wish you were hereI miss you so muchRosie, my dearRosie, do you love me stillRosie, my broken daffodil