The Destroyer Song
The boys out in the trenches
Have got a lot to say
Of the hardships and the sorrows
That eome the soldier's way.
But we destroyer sailors
Would like their company
On a couple of trips in our skinny ships,
When we put out to sea
Chorus:
Oh, it's roll and toss
And pound and pitch
And creak and groan, you son of a bitch.
Oh, boy, it's a hell of a life on a destroyer.
Oh, Holy Mike, you ought to see
How it feels to roll through each degree.
The God-damned ships were never meant for sea
You carry guns, torpedoes, and ash-cans in a bunch,
But the only time you're sure to fire Is when you shoot your lunch.
Your food it is tbe navy bean,
You hunt the slimy submarine.
It's a son-of-a-bitch of a life on a destroyer.
We've heard of muddy dug-outs,
Of shell holes filled with slime,
Of cootie hunts and other things,
That fill a soldier's time.
But believe me, bo, that's nothing,
To what it's like at sea,
When the barometer drops
And the clinometer hops,
And the wind blows dismally.
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The Destroyer Song
The boys out in the trenches
Have got a lot to say
Of the hardships and the sorrows
That eome the soldier's way.
But we destroyer sailors
Would like their company
On a couple of trips in our skinny ships,
When we put out to sea
Chorus:
Oh, it's roll and toss
And pound and pitch
And creak and groan, you son of a bitch.
Oh, boy, it's a hell of a life on a destroyer.
Oh, Holy Mike, you ought to see
How it feels to roll through each degree.
The God-damned ships were never meant for sea
You carry guns, torpedoes, and ash-cans in a bunch,
But the only time you're sure to fire Is when you shoot your lunch.
Your food it is tbe navy bean,
You hunt the slimy submarine.
It's a son-of-a-bitch of a life on a destroyer.
We've heard of muddy dug-outs,
Of shell holes filled with slime,
Of cootie hunts and other things,
That fill a soldier's time.
But believe me, bo, that's nothing,
To what it's like at sea,
When the barometer drops
And the clinometer hops,
And the wind blows dismally.
The boys out in the trenches
Have got a lot to say
Of the hardships and the sorrows
That eome the soldier's way.
But we destroyer sailors
Would like their company
On a couple of trips in our skinny ships,
When we put out to sea
Chorus:
Oh, it's roll and toss
And pound and pitch
And creak and groan, you son of a bitch.
Oh, boy, it's a hell of a life on a destroyer.
Oh, Holy Mike, you ought to see
How it feels to roll through each degree.
The God-damned ships were never meant for sea
You carry guns, torpedoes, and ash-cans in a bunch,
But the only time you're sure to fire Is when you shoot your lunch.
Your food it is tbe navy bean,
You hunt the slimy submarine.
It's a son-of-a-bitch of a life on a destroyer.
We've heard of muddy dug-outs,
Of shell holes filled with slime,
Of cootie hunts and other things,
That fill a soldier's time.
But believe me, bo, that's nothing,
To what it's like at sea,
When the barometer drops
And the clinometer hops,
And the wind blows dismally.