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Saturday, March 07 2015

The boys are in the trenches, they’ve got a lot to say
About the troubles and the sorrows that come the soldier’s way,
But we destroyer sailors would like their company
On a hell of a trip, on a lousy ship when we put out to sea.

You roll, you creak, you pound, you pitch
You greasy grimy son-of-a-bitch
Oh boy, it’s a hell of a life on a destroyer.

The damn tin can destroyer was never meant for sea.
You couldn’t keep her steady in a lousy cup of tea.
We carry guns, torpedoes and ash cans in a bunch,
But the only time we hit our mark, is when we shoot our lunch.

We’ve heard of muddy dugouts and foxholes filled with slime,
Of cooty hunts and marches that fill a soldiers time,
But set beside destroyer life it all seems dull and pale
For when the chronometer hops, and the barometer drops, we line up on the rail.

When we’re back in dry dock, we’ll stagger like we’re drunk,
We’ll wonder how we stood it, and why she never sunk.
We’ll set our course in civilian clothes, but just before we switch
With our sea bag on our shoulder, we’ll sign up for one more hitch.

If you want to hear what this ditty sounds like click here.

Do you have a sea ditty you'd like to share? If you’re willing to share your own sea ditty, please use our online submission form, or email You just might see your sea ditty in a future blog post on Larry’s website.

Posted by: Larry Laswell AT 08:03 am   |  Permalink   |  0 Comments  |  Email
Monday, November 10 2014
We Ain't Going To Sea No More
(Sung to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic)
Mine eyes have seen the aircraft carriers, we have heard the cruisers roar,
We've seen our battle wagons sweeping everything before,
But we're stuck aboard this tin can till the goddamn war is o'er...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.
Glory Jesus, what a helluva way to die,
Glory Jesus, what a helluva way to die,
Glory Jesus, what a helluva way to die,
Well, we ain’t going to sea no more.
Submariners get the glory when they come home from the scrap,
Landing craft men get promotions while the Seabees get a nap,
Aviators get the medals, tin can sailors get the crap...
Well, We ain't going to sea no more.
There is rust upon our fo’c’scl, there is soot upon our stacks,
There is fuel oil in our bilge and salt upon our racks,
Barnacles on our bottom, even got ‘em in our cracks...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.
When Marines and troops are landing, and the going's gettin' rough,
Then the call goes out for tin cans, “Shell the beach and make it tough!"
Then the papers praise the cruisers, and the tin cans take the guff...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.
And in the bloody battle when the fleet is in a mess,
They holler for the tin cans, and they send for us express,
Who cares if, when it's over, there's a tin can more or less...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.
Have a sea ditty you want to share?  Send it to Larry. Click here.
Posted by: Larry Laswell AT 07:43 am   |  Permalink   |  0 Comments  |  Email
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