I was on leave at the time, just duckin' the fog,
nosin' around like a hungry dog
in that crazy place called Washington, D.C.
I saw a crowd of people on the White House lawn
all carrying signs about Vietnam,
so I went on over to see what I could see.
They was a strange-looking bunch.
But I never did understand civilians.
A fellow came to me with a list in his hand.
"We're gatherin' names to send a telegram of sympathy."
Then he handed me a pen.
I said, "I reckon this is goin' to the children and wives
of my friends over there who've given their lives."
He says, "Uh-uh, buddy, this is goin' to Ho Chi Minh."
I said, "Ho Chi who?"
He said, "Ho Chi Minh, People's Leader, North Vietnam."
Well, I wasn't real sure I was hearin' him right.
But I thought we'd better remove before we got in a fight
because my eyes were smartin', and my pulse started hitting a lick.
I thought about another telegram I'd read
tellin' my buddy's wife that her husband was dead.
It wasn't too long till I was feelin' downright sick.
Another held the sign that said 'We won't fight.'
And I thought to myself, 'You got that right.
You'd rather let a soldier die instead.'
I said, "You ever stop to think
that every man who died there in that far-off land
was dyin' so that you won't wake up dead?"
Of course, he looked at me like I was crazy,
just another warmonger.
Well, I left that place and went to town
and hit the first bar that I found to cool myself and pacify my brain.
See, I was on orders back to Vietnam, to a little place just north of Saigon,
and I had about an hour to catch my plane.
So, all I mean to say is, 'I don't like dyin' either.
But I care about the way I live.'