They've Done Their Hitch in Hell 101st Airborne
by Jack E. Kline
We're sitting here and thinking of the things we left behind,
We'd hate to put on paper what is going through our mind.
We've dug so many foxholes, cleared many miles of ground,
A hotter place this side of hell we're sure cannot be found.
There is a certain consolation though, so listen while we tell,
When we die we'll go to heaven,
'Cause we've done our hitch in hell.
We've built up three kitchens, for Jerry bombed out two,
And there we'll meet three times a day to draw our daily stew.
We've dodged the het-hot shrapnel from the dirty Jerry bombs,
We've sweat and bled and hollered just to see our moms.
When our work on earth is finished, our friends behind will tell,
Those boys all went to heaven,
'Cause they done their hitch in hell.
We take our atabrine daily, those bitter little pills,
To build up our resistance to fevers,aches and chills.
"Put out those lights and cigarettes," we hear each sergeant yell,
"This ain't no Sunday picnic,
It's another hitch in hell."
When the final taps have sounded and we shed our early cares,
We'll pass in grand parade, we all, upon those golden stairs.
The angels there will greet us and their harps they'll gladly play,
We'll draw a hundred dollars and lose it in a day.
We'll hear Gabriel blow his trumpet and St. Peter loudly yell,
"Front seats you guys from the 101st,
'Cause you've done your hitch in hell."