Rifles N Guns is all about Firearms. Everything is submitted and created by the Rifles N Guns community. Share, discover and talk about stuff that's important to you!
Fiddler's Green
This right here is called Fiddler's Green. It's a fantasy heaven for those men that are in the United States Army Cavalry. Here it is:
Halfway down the trail to hell
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
Marching past, straight through to hell,
The infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.
Comments
I'm in the US Army as a cavalry scout and we had to learn this work for word when i was in basic training, it cool to see it here it has a lot of mean for those of us who fought with the cav.
the original Fiddler's Green was the last resting place of British merchant seamen. They said that there was a hatch cover somewhere over the north pole, where the souls of departed sailers were wafted on by a strong gale. Once inside, paradise. The drinks and cigs were free, the girls all pretty, and avilable!
As I roved by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the salt waters and take in the salt air
I heard an old sailor singing a song
Oh, take me away boys me time is not long
Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates
And I'll see you someday on Fiddlers Green
Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell
Where a bold sailor goes if 'e don't go to hell
Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away
Now when you're in dock and the long trip is through
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too
And the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free
And there's bottles of rum growing on every tree.
Where the skies are all clear and there's never a gale
And the fish jump on board with one swish on their tail
Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do
And the skipper's below making tea for the crew
Now I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea
I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along
With the wind in the riggin to sing me a song