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One Sunday morning, 'Twas out in sunny France; I met some Hun birds, And didn't have a chance: They shot my gas tank And my engine through, The first thing I knew My flying days were through, with bells on: — I crashed on landing, Then fired a shot, Which washed my buss out Right on the spot; I hit a Bosch right on the nose, When he pinched my flying clothes, One Sunday morning, When the Huns got me. By Ed Klingman Shot down Sunday, September 1, 1918