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Thirty-five days in Camp Peary,
Five weeks in a place wreaking hell,
I can't say I'm sorry I'm leaving,
I'm ready to cruise for a spell.
We live like hogs in a mud hole
In a two-by-four hut made of tin;
They say that the rain makes it muddy,
But it's only the tide coming in. So I'm packing my sea bags for travel,
I'm washing the mud from my face,
And I don't give a damn where they send me
As long as it is some other place.
They can send me to the front in the morning
And the Axis can turn on the heat,
If the only way back is through Peary,
Don't worry, I'll never retreat.
Author Unknown