The Silver Star Families of America: Obama Spits in the Face of our Veterans

I was talking with a gentleman the other day who had put in over 25 years in the Army. He had scars on his arms and face from battles too numerous to mention. He had been shot, blown up, laughed at, sneered at and suffered PTS. He had not one regret.

A simple “thank you” somehow seemed insufficient but it was all I could muster from one old vet to another. That is why I was so surprised when the Obama Administration found just the right way to thank all our veterans for their sacrifice to this great Nation: By insisting, under threat of veto, that we raise their health insurance premiums and cut their pay raise. http://www.military.com/benefits/2013/04/11/mil-update-obama-seeks-to-cap-pay-and-up-tricare-fees.html

Thank you veterans, here is your bill.

It never ceases to amaze me that in time of trouble we call on those warriors who have been there for us for over 200 years. But when the conflicts die down, those wounded, injured or ill veterans are quickly forgotten or worse, discarded.

I suppose the old veteran can now add, “Spit in the face” to his resume of war. Because that is what this is—a spit in the face.

The Silver Star Families of America will fight this with our every resource. And we will keep track of those who vote for this travesty.

Steve Newton

The Silver Star Families of America is a nonprofit whose mission is to remember, honor and assist the wounded, ill and injured of our Armed Forces.

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

Tommy - by Rudyard Kipling

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