Home Songs & Poetry

Sons of Uncle Ho

Hard on the western Pacific rim, in the land where the earthquakes grow,
Beneath the stars of the Southern Cross, where the muddy Mekong flows.
Where the noonday sun can strike one dead, where the monsoons scour the land,
Where typhoons spawn in the China Sea, where jungle meets the strand.
Where the tiger stalks the barking deer under triple canopy's gloom.
The ambush teams set up at night in the shadows of crumbling tombs.

So here's to the sons of Uncle Ho who named the Viet Minh
And here's to the way they sucked us in and spit us out again
And here's to the jungle fever and the triple canopy
Where we fought and killed each other from the Delta to the Z.

Where the sniper hides in the tree line, and napalm smoke stains the sky,
The best and the dregs of generation were flung afar to die.
There were more than a million troopers sent to fight the Viet Minh
And the armored pride of Patton's sons was crumpled up like tin.
Though we strode the skies like Valkyries, we sons of a proud command,
Learned respect for the soldiers of Ho, in the jungles of Viet Nam

So here's to the sons of Uncle Ho and their cousins the NVA
See them work their paddies in the steaming tropic day
Slinking out at midnight and crawling through the swamps,
To drop Katyushin rockets on our camps

Had we managed a set-piece battle we'd have won with our firepower
But Charlie played his party games in minutes, not in hours
We had trained to fight the last war, but not the current one.
So we paid for education with the lives of mother's sons
And the nation grew suspicious that the government was lying.
And the soldiers, like all soldiers, grew extremely tired of dying.

So here's to Victor Charlie and his deadly mortar rounds
If I live to be a hundred I will not forget the sound
Of popping tubes and screaming shells as they came arcing down
(They'd lob in ten or twenty then go trotting back to town.)

We knew we'd whip them quickly and be home inside a year
They were only Asian peasants with their culture in arrears.
But they wouldn't stand and slug it out; they'd strike and run away.
They were part-time, nighttime soldiers, and we preferred the day.
They didn't have no armor. But, oh God! They 'd RPG's
Which could punch a hole in armor and flat wreck an APC.

Remember the sons of Uncle Ho, just villagers by day.
They'd know when we was sleepy, it was then they'd want to play.
They were short and awful skinny, made for crawling through the wire,
They'd turn the claymores roundabout and wait for us to fire.

Well, in fighting them we learned a lot of things we didn't know.
Such as they'd been fighting steady for two thousand years or so.
And they didn't want no body round who didn't look the same.
And when you'd whip one group of them, they'd hide and change their name.
Some was Buddhist, some was Cao Dai, and some was Catholic they say.
Fighting 'mongst each other till it came to fighting us, Sooner kill a Mui Loi any day.

So remember the sons of Uncle Ho who tunneled under ground
Who sat trembling in the darkness when the Arclites came around.
Who crawled out from their bunkers mud covered, shaken, pale,
And welcomed in the point platoon by ambushing the trail

They promised us for each we lost they'd sacrifice their ten.
Well they were counting years I guess while we were counting men.
And the nation turned its back upon its brothers and its sons.
While LBJ spent millions buying butter and more guns.
Then Tricky Dick took over and it wasn't very long.
'Till we packed up all our toys, and called it peace and came back home.

Then down came the sons of Uncle Ho, across the DMZ.
And the ARVN's comic generals led the retreat to the sea.
They agreed it was their country, and they guessed that it wasn't right.
But the ARVN had no leaders and the ARVN had no fight.

Hard on the western Pacific rim, in the land where the earthquakes grow,
Beneath the stars of the Southern Cross, where the muddy Mekong flows.
Where the noonday sun can strike one dead, where the monsoons scour the land,
Where typhoons spawn in the China Sea, where jungle meets the strand.
Where star shells fell like meteorites, 'till the darkness did retreat,
The sons of Ho met the sons of Sam and taught us of defeat.