by The Bard
He got in a jam.
He got in a fight,
He couln't make right.
He sent a lot of men,
(The common men,
Joe, Paul, Mike & Glen),
But still he couldn't win...
After looking,
At all the dead,
A wise old universal soldier
Said,
"The only psalm,
For Viet Nam,
Is the calm,
Of an atomic bomb,
A GOD DAMN BIG BAM FROM UNCLE SAM;
But, before the fuse is lighted,
The children shoul be invited,
To see,
Via TV,
After the bomb has hit,
ONE GREAT PILE OF SHIT,
CALLED VIET NAM JAM,
Made and spread,
By Uncle Sam!"
...But we are the common men,
Joe, Paul, Mike & Glen.
Our plight is,
To fight or flee...
But, then,
CAPPIES DON'T MAKE GOOD PAPPIES,
AND COMMIES DON'T MAKE GOOD MOMMIES;
BUT, TOGETHER, THEY MAKE,
FOR ONE HELL OF A WHORE CALLED WAR!
...But, should we fight or flee,
Or fall in line in the nit-wit brigade.
For pink pigs and fat-cat hogs,
Love a long bloodstained parade.
But, all in all,
Will the backstreets,
Of some foreign nothern town,
Free us from all of this crap,
Or just let us all down?
But, in the bare-assed dawn,
When lice is thickest in bullshit's
hair,
Another question might well be asked,
"WHO REALlY GIVES A GOOD FUCK OR CARES?"
FOR THE OLD FIELD OUT THERE IN THE BULL,
IT DON'T GIVE NO KIND OF DANGING,
ABOUT HOW ALL OF ITS OFFSPRINGS' BIG,
PRECIOUS BALLS ARE A HANGING;
AND THE OLD CUD JUST CHEWS ITS COW,
AND TAKES BIG BITES OF THE HERE AND NOW.
...Yes, we are the common men,
Joe, Paul, Mike & Glen,
Known for pondering our fates,
Hours without end...
...Known also to fill many a body bag,
Forever shouded by a U.S. flag.
~
Copyright © 2007 - The Bard
Published: 8/9/07 · Author's Page · Next Poem