By: MSgt Edd Prothro, USMC Ret. 1964 - 1984
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CORPS
T’was the night before Christmas and all through the Corps;
no one had liberty; the troops were all sore.
We were all sacked out – every man in the lot;
on our beds of spikes; the Marine Corps cot.
Then out of the night there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my rack to see whats the matter.
I rushed to the window while craning my neck,
but I tripped on my locker and fell on the deck.
The door opened wide, and it seemed to get colder;
when I saw that St. Nick had four stars on his collar.
It was the Commandant, there was never a doubt;
he was wearing his poncho, with the green side out.
He tip-toed around by every man’s rack;
closely inspecting each man’s field marching pack.
A chosen few got a ninty-six chit,
but most of us got a ration of shit.
Then he took off in his gold plated tank;
drawn by 8 colonels, all bucking for rank.
Going over the trees, he turned with a shout;
“Merry Christmas, your bastards, you’ll never get out!!”