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Fiddler's Green
Halfway cross the sky to hell there's a shady meadow green,
Where the souls of all dead airborne troops camp by a clear cool stream;
And this eternal resting place is known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past straight through to hell some soldiers can be seen;
Accompanied by old Satan, with his fiery eyes a-gleam;
For none but the gallant paratroops can camp on Fiddler's Green.
Though some go coursing cross the sky to seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to hell ere he's emptied his canteen;
And thus comes back to drink again with friends on Fiddler's Green.
And so when man and chute go down in a raging fire so keen,
Or in a roaring ambush to stop a bullet clean
When the enemy comes to help you die, just empty your canteen,
Put your rifle to your head, drink with mates on Fiddler's Green.
And have no fear, for your next stop is to drink with mates on Fiddler's
Green.
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