D
D-n-A
Guest
A bit of camy cloth
You‘ve heard stories of this war
they‘re either false or true
but here‘s one of men and courage
I‘ll introduce to you
Let me tell you now
of the real men of war
the ones who seek the enemy
to make their body count soar
a bit of camy cloth
no shine, no noise, no glitter
only a hard lean look
and eyes which are always bitter
the nomads of II corps
they are often called
but their presence means death
where their footsteps fall
Playing charlies game
using charlies rules
claymores, grenades and rifles
are the rangers deadly tools
Moving quietly through the jungle
in a six man file
they look, liten and pause
but only for awhile
The pointman is alerter
ahead is a hi-speed trail
they set their deadly ambush
abd buy chuck a ticket to ****
A long boring lull
and soon some voices are heard
they grip their weapons anxiously
for soon the trap is spurred
Claymores shouting die
and rifles barking death
the ambush now is finished
no time to catch your breath
Equipment and weapons captureed
are picked up in a rush
the rangers make their exit
by blending into the brush
Moving to extraction
the rangers quicker pace
the look of satisfaction
is showing on each face
The hook-up is made
the bird is heading home
another mission completed
a few more days are gone
Again with friends in the local club
he drinks an ice-chilled beer
trying to forget this man-made ****
and add to the growing cheer
Tomarrow he‘ll clean his weapon
and write a letter home
he‘ll never mention the hurt
for a d*mn good buddy thats is gone
There‘s a dirty job in Vietnam
the job is one of danger
the only way to get it done
is to be an AIRBORNE RANGER
My dad wrote that in the back of a photo album
not sure if he wrote it on his own, or if he copied it from somewhere
You‘ve heard stories of this war
they‘re either false or true
but here‘s one of men and courage
I‘ll introduce to you
Let me tell you now
of the real men of war
the ones who seek the enemy
to make their body count soar
a bit of camy cloth
no shine, no noise, no glitter
only a hard lean look
and eyes which are always bitter
the nomads of II corps
they are often called
but their presence means death
where their footsteps fall
Playing charlies game
using charlies rules
claymores, grenades and rifles
are the rangers deadly tools
Moving quietly through the jungle
in a six man file
they look, liten and pause
but only for awhile
The pointman is alerter
ahead is a hi-speed trail
they set their deadly ambush
abd buy chuck a ticket to ****
A long boring lull
and soon some voices are heard
they grip their weapons anxiously
for soon the trap is spurred
Claymores shouting die
and rifles barking death
the ambush now is finished
no time to catch your breath
Equipment and weapons captureed
are picked up in a rush
the rangers make their exit
by blending into the brush
Moving to extraction
the rangers quicker pace
the look of satisfaction
is showing on each face
The hook-up is made
the bird is heading home
another mission completed
a few more days are gone
Again with friends in the local club
he drinks an ice-chilled beer
trying to forget this man-made ****
and add to the growing cheer
Tomarrow he‘ll clean his weapon
and write a letter home
he‘ll never mention the hurt
for a d*mn good buddy thats is gone
There‘s a dirty job in Vietnam
the job is one of danger
the only way to get it done
is to be an AIRBORNE RANGER
My dad wrote that in the back of a photo album
not sure if he wrote it on his own, or if he copied it from somewhere
