I’ve saddled up, and dropped me hooch,
I’m going to take the gap,
my Tour of Duty’s over mates,
and I won’t be coming back.
I’m done with diggin’ shell scrapes
and laying out barbed wire,
I’m sick of setting Claymore Mines,
and coming under fire.
So, no more Fire Support Base,
and no more foot patrols,
and no more eating ration packs,
and sleepin’ in muddy holes.
I’ve fired my last machine gun,
and ambushed my last track,
I’m sick of all the Army brass,
and I sure ain’t coming back.
I’ll hand my bayonet to the clerk,
he ain’t seen one before,
and clean my rifle one more time,
and return it to the store.
So, no more spit and polish,
and make sure I get paid,
and sign me from the Regiment,
today’s my last parade.