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.
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