Ride the surf on blunt-nosed barges,
Guns and fighting men our charges.
Hit the beach at crack of dawn.
Land them safely, calm or storm.
Fight on shore 'till beach-head's won.
Then the task is just begun.
Clear the sands, blast a road.
Return to bring another load.
Set the range lights. Mark the reef.
From D Day on there's no relief.
Creep her in...rough approach
Big waves high...apt to broach.
Man the fifties! Get that plane!
Keep on shooting 'spite the pain.
| |
Strange jargon for Army men
"Ramps" and "Props," "Swing Ship at Ten."
Lines and pumps, decks to swab.
Coxswains, seamen on the job.
Tell me of these men I pray thee
Bastard child of Army, Navy.
Are they soldier" Or Marine?
Mayhap something in between.
"In between" is right, I'd say,
"Tween the rough sea and the star.
"Tween the near shore and the far,
"Tween the rough sea and the star.
"Tween the yellowman and freeman,
Stands this half-breed soldier-seaman.
|