| Said goodbye to his momma as he left South Dakota
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| To fight for the red, white and blue
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| He was 19 and green with a new M-16
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| Just doing what he had to do He was dropped in the jungle where the choppers would rumble
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| With the smell of napalm in the air
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| And the sergeant said… look up ahead
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| Like a dark evil cloud, 1,200 came down on him and 29 more
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| They fought for their lives but most of them died in the 173rd Airborne
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| On the 8th of November the angels were crying
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| As they carried his brothers away
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| With the fire raining down and the hell all around
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| There were few men left standing that day
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| Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky
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| 1965, the 8th of November
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| Now he’s 58 and his pony tail’s gray
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| But the battle still plays in his head
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| He limps when he walks but he’s strong when he talks
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| About the Shrapnel they left in his leg
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| He puts on a gray suit over his Airborne tattoo
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| And he ties it on one time a year
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| And remembers that fallen as he orders a tall one
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| And swallows it down with his tears
|
| Saw the eagle fly through a clear blue sky
|
| On the 8th of November the angels were crying
|
| As they carried his brother away
|
| With the fire raining down and the hell all around
|
| There were few men left standing that day
|
| Said goodbye to his momma as he left South Dakota
|
| TO fight for the red, white and blue
|
| He was nineteen and green with a new M-16
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| Just doing what he had to do |