FROM
USS YMS 427
WE WERE
SO YOUNG
-----------------------------
IN
NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY ONE
WHEN
US NOW OLD MEN WERE THEN ALL YOUNG,
UNCLE
SAM ANNOUNCED, “THERE’S A JOB TO BE
DONE.
I
WANT YOU--AND YOU--AND YOU!”
THEN
IN NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY TWO,
THE
NAVY DECIDED, WE SHOULD BE MINESWEEP SAILORS
TO
HELP SWEEP ALL THE MINES IN THE FOREIGN SEAS
AND TO HELP END THIS WAR.
SO
WE ALL RUSHED DOWN TO THOSE SIGN-IN PLACES,
THERE
WERE NO SMILES ON THOSE YOUNG FACES,
FOR
THE WORD “WAR” ALL SMILES ERASE
AND
LORD- WE WERE SO YOUNG
WE
SIGNED OUR NAMES ON THOSE DOTTED LINE SPACES,
MEN
OF ALL CREEDS, RELIGIONS AND RACES,
AND
WE ENDED UP IN ALL THE DAMDEST PLACES
BUT
HOW CAREFREE-WE WERE THEN SO YOUNG.
MEN
OF HONOR, AS WELL AS MIGHT,
MEN
WHO COULD SWEEP AS WELL AS FIGHT,
YES,
AND IF NEED BE-BOTH DAY AND NIGHT
OH!
“TWAS GREAT TO BE SO YOUNG.
WITH
MUSCLES OF IRON AND NERVES OF STEEL,.
WHOSE
BACKS MIGHT BEND, BUT NEVER YIELD,
WHO
WORKED LIKE ROBOTS, BUT IN TRUTH WERE QUIT REAL,
AND
OH! WE WERE ALL SO YOUNG
YES
WE ALL SIGNED UP WITHOUT HESITATION,
THE
LENGTH OF THE HITCH READ “FOR THE DURATION,
BUT
WE WERE SO PROUD TO SERVE OUR NATION,
SO
NAĎVE – AND OH SO YOUNG
AND
NOW, IN NINETEEN HUNDRED AND NINTY FOUR
TO
US OLD ME, WHO WERE THEN SO YOUNG
OUR
MAKER IS SAYING, “THERE’S A NEW JOB TO BE DONE,
I
NEED YOU – AND YOU – AND YOU!”
AND
AS WE SIGN UP, AND LEAVE ONE BY ONE
FOR
THE “MINESWEEP HEAVEN,” UP BEYOND THE SUN,
I
KNOW OUR MAKER WILL SAY “WELL DONE”
FROM
USS YMS 427
DUTY ON THE YMS”S
The mines go bang and the winches clang and the guns they
blaze away,
We rescue men and pick up stiffs to pass the time of day,
We carry freight and stay out late no matter what the mess,
The tighter the spot when things are hot is the place for a
YMS.
Our names forgot but from the States we come,
To sweep through all the channels is our biggest claim to
fame,
But anything else that bothers us we find it ours to do,
No matter if our props are bent and we killed of half our
crew.
The cruisers shoot, the cans tear by, while the AM’s sit at
home,
But the YMS are on their way sweeping the way to Rome,
We can’t salute and don’t give a hoot, so send us out to
sea,
Where there’s work to do with our motley crew and the
inspectors let us be.
We swept by Empedocle and right up to the Italian coast,
While Heine shoots his 88’s
right past our rudder post.
Our three inch guns they blaze away and nothing do they hit,
While Heine hides behind his guns and has a frightful fit.
When we get home and our children ask what we’ve done,
Tell them at times we worked but mostly it was fun,
And when they look for medals with their eyes so bright and
keen,
Just tell them Daddy hasn’t any – it was just “routine”.
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