A soldier stood on the corner of the street, watching the world go by,
He wonders who, next he will meet, or if he’s next in line to die,
He stands there not for the fun of his health, instead he’s gambling with his life,
Wondering what fate has in store for him, or if he’ll ever again see his loving wife.

His folks at home all think he’s grand, but the Irish have different ides,
The Irish are the enemy, the people the soldier fears,
At last another soldier relieves him, so he can go back where he can relax,
For just a short while, but be ready, for sudden attack.

A soldier is always on “Stand by”, he must always be “Alert”,
Ready to go out without notice, and perhaps have to lie in the dirt,
Or lie low in some field, on an O.P, with little or no radio contact,
Then he wonders why the hell, he ever signed the Army contract.

His idea was not to be a hero, when he signed on the dotted line,
Not to be fighting in Ireland, because it’s just a complete waste of time,
No thanks will he get for the heartache, for witnessing carnage and pain,
No relief he will he feel when it’s time to go home,
Because he knows he will be back again and again!!!!