Vet's View

By

Vets' View

The thing to judge in these debates
Is what you're truly hearing;
Do you hear what George, god bless 'em, states,
Or John boy so endearing?

The Cowboy tells you it's hard work,
Not for the faint of heart,
But manicured John, that elitist jerk, 
Does a global view impart.

We hear the pundits say John won,
And shake our heads and wonder;
How they disregard this Judas son,
Who made our nation sunder,

Turned on us soldiers in the field,
Accused us of war crimes,
And made our nation kneel and yield
In those disgraceful times.

It matters not how glib a man
Speaks to a listening nation.
What matters if he cut and ran,
His combat duty station.

As did tall John in sixty—eight
With purple band—aids flying,
Deserted crew, fled to his state,
To there pursue his lying.

We know this man, for we fought there;
He's but a lying traitor
Whose fancy words and fancy hair
Conceal an imitator. 

Yeah Johnny got his cuticles trimmed,
While George reviewed the gloom
Of homes and lives that had been dimmed
By nature's hand of doom.

While all you pundits say John won;
We'll take a differing view.
That inarticulate Texas son,
To us came clearly through.

He'll fight the fight and win this war,
And victory's road he'll take,
To vanquish Jihad to it's core
Unlike that Boston fake.

Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65—66

Russ Vaughn is the Poet Laureate of the American Thinker

Vets' View

The thing to judge in these debates
Is what you're truly hearing;
Do you hear what George, god bless 'em, states,
Or John boy so endearing?

The Cowboy tells you it's hard work,
Not for the faint of heart,
But manicured John, that elitist jerk, 
Does a global view impart.

We hear the pundits say John won,
And shake our heads and wonder;
How they disregard this Judas son,
Who made our nation sunder,

Turned on us soldiers in the field,
Accused us of war crimes,
And made our nation kneel and yield
In those disgraceful times.

It matters not how glib a man
Speaks to a listening nation.
What matters if he cut and ran,
His combat duty station.

As did tall John in sixty—eight
With purple band—aids flying,
Deserted crew, fled to his state,
To there pursue his lying.

We know this man, for we fought there;
He's but a lying traitor
Whose fancy words and fancy hair
Conceal an imitator. 

Yeah Johnny got his cuticles trimmed,
While George reviewed the gloom
Of homes and lives that had been dimmed
By nature's hand of doom.

While all you pundits say John won;
We'll take a differing view.
That inarticulate Texas son,
To us came clearly through.

He'll fight the fight and win this war,
And victory's road he'll take,
To vanquish Jihad to it's core
Unlike that Boston fake.

Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65—66

Russ Vaughn is the Poet Laureate of the American Thinker