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A French Poem

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 pilots and Marines,
and now you'll get a little sense
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.

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

I'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 sideline
with a sign, "friendship for hire."

We'll win this 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.

Writer Unknown