Hi soldier, let me sign my book,
And I'll personalize it too.
Well pardon me, why that hard look?
That stare that goes clear through.
My word you'd think I'd done some wrong,
To merit such disfavor,
Oh come now, that's all gone so long,
It's future fame I savor.
What's that thingie there upon your breast,
That rifle with the wreath?
And those wings upon your shriveled chest,
All those ribbons underneath?
Oh, I get it now, you're one of them,
Crazy vet just filled with hate
Well, you can just forget it, Slim,
I'm the media's hottest date.
Oh yeah, you peasant warrior twit,
You think your country cares
That I once played the traitor bit?
Go stuff your dead—eyed stares.
Relax old—timer, you're dismissed,
They've turned the cameras on,
Wouldn't want the folks to see you pissed,
To see I've finally won.
Hold on Sarge! What do you mean,
This is for the fallen's glory?
Wait! Stop! My scrawny butt's too lean
For a book suppository.
I knew you grunts were crazy,
Just peasants without class
So now I'm upsy—daisy
A book and jump boot up my ass.
SSGT Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division