A Tribute To The French - (by unknown internet poet! Speak up, if you wrote this marvel!)

Eleven thousand soldiers
lay beneath the dirt and stone,
all buried on a distant land
so far away from home.

For just a strip of dismal beach
they paid a hero's price,
to save a foreign nation
they all made the sacrifice.

And now the shores of Normandy
are lined with blocks of white:
Americans who didn't turn
from someone else's plight.

Eleven thousand reasons
for the French to take our side,
but in the moment of our need,
they chose to run and hide.

Chirac said every war means loss,
perhaps for France that's true,
for they've lost every battle
since the days of Waterloo.

Without a soldier worth a damn
to be found within the region,
the French became the only land
to need a Foreign Legion.

You French all say we're arrogant.
Well hell, we've earned the right;
we saved your sorry nation
when you lacked the guts to fight.

But now you've made a big mistake,
and one that you'll regret;
you took sides with our enemies,
and that we won't forget.

It wasn't just our citizens
you spit on when you turned,
but every one of yours who fell
the day the towers burned.

You spit upon our soldiers,
on our sailors and Marines,
and now you'll get a little taste
of just what payback means.

So keep your Paris fashions
and your wine and your champagne,
and find some other market
that will buy your airplanes.

And try to find somebody else
to wear your French cologne,
for you're about to find out
what it means to stand alone.

You see, you need us far more
than we ever needed you.
America has better friends
who know how to be true.

We'ld rather stand with warriors
who have the will and might,
than huddle in the dark with those
whose only flag is white.

We'll take the Brits, the Aussies,
the Israelis and the rest,
for when it comes to valor
we have seen that they're the best.

We'll count on one another
as we face a moment dire,
while you sit on the sidelines
with your sign, "friendship for hire."

We'll win these war without you
and we'll total up the cost,
and take it from your foreign aid,
and then you'll feel the loss.

And when your nation starts to fall,
well Frenchie, you can spare us.
Just call the Germans for a hand,
they know the way to Paris.

Here's another I just love:

FIGHTIN' WORDS

by RUSS VAUGHN

You media pansies may squeal and may squirm,
But a fightin’ man knows that the way to confirm,
That some jihadist bastard truly is dead,
Is a brain-tappin’ round fired into his head.

To hell with some weenie with his journalist degree,
Safe away from the combat, tryin’ to tell me,
I should check him for breathin,’ examine his eyes.
Nope, I’m punchin’ his ticket to Muj paradise.

To hell with you wimps from your Ivy League schools,
Sittin’ far from the war, tellin’ me about rules
And preachin’ to me your wrong-headed contention
That I should observe the Geneva Convention,
Which doesn’t apply to a terrorist scum
So evil and cruel their own people run ,
Cold-blooded killers who love to behead,
Shove that mother’ Geneva, I’m leavin’ em dead!

You slick talking heads may preach, preen, and prattle,
But you’re damn well not here in the thick of the battle.
It’s chaotic, confusin’ it all comes at you fast,
So it’s Muj checkin’ out because I’m going to last.

Yeah, I’ll last through this fight and send his rear away
To his fat ugly virgins while I’m still in play.
If you journalist weenies think that’s cold, cruel, and crass,
Then pucker up sweeties and kiss a fightin’ man’s ass!

Russ Vaughn 2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment 101st Airborne Division Vietnam 65-66
About the Writer: Russ has a 40-year affiliation with the military, directly and as a retired health care marketer. He spent six years as a paratrooper with the 82nd and the 101st Airborne, and earned the Combat Infantry Badge in Vietnam with the 101st. Russ receives e-mail at lkv@direcway.com

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