CHRISTMAS IN THE CORPS
Unknown Author
T'was the night before Christmas and all through the Corps,
Not a soul had liberty, the troops were all sore.
They were all sacked out, every man in the lot,
On racks of nails, called Marine Corps cots.
When out on the lawn, there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my rack to see what was the matter.
All out of breath, I hid behind the door
With pounding heart I waited for more.
A rolly-polly gent appeared on the scene,
And to my surprise it was the Commandant of Marines.
Yes it was the Commandant, there was no doubt,
For he had on his poncho, green side out.
He tiptoed around to each man's rack,
And carefully inspected each man's pack.
To a chosen few, a ninety-six chit,
But to the majority, a ration of ****.
As he pulled away; in gold plated tank,
Pulled by ten colonels, all bucking for rank.
I heard him say, and he said with a shout.
"Merry Christmas you bastards, You'll never get out."
Sempers,
Roger
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