Going To Sea No More

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We Ain't Going To Sea No More  

We have seen our aircraft carriers,
We have heard the cruisers roar,
We've seen our battle wagons sweeping everything before,
But we're stuck aboard this tin can till the goddamn war is o'er...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.

Chorus:

HOLY JESUS, WHAT A HELLUVA WAY TO DIE,
HOLY JESUS, WHAT A HELLUVA WAY TO DIE,
HOLY JESUS, WHAT A HELLUVA WAY TO DIE,
WE AIN'T GOING TO SEA NO MORE.

Submariners get the glory when they come home from the scrap,
Landing craft men get promotions while the seabees get a nap,
Aviators get the medals, tin can sailors get the crap...
We ain't going to sea no more.

There is rust upon the fo'c'sle, there is soot upon her stacks,
There is fuel oil in her bilge and salt upon her depth charge racks,
Barnacles on her bottom, and we got'em in our cracks...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.

When Marines and troops are landing, and the going's gettin' rough,
Then the call goes out for tin cans,"Shell the beach and make it tough!"
Then the papers praise the cruisers, and the tin cans take the guff...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.

And in the bloody battle when the fleet is in a mess,
They holler for the tin cans, and they send for us express,
Who cares if, when it's over, there's a tin can more or less...
Well, we ain't going to sea no more.


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