Stevenson (DD 645) - Naval Cruise Book

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On an old twastack destroyer We cross the briny deep It would take a good sea-lawyer To figure how we sleep. lt's a-buckin' like a broncho u And a-rarin' like a mule, And to be a tin-can sailor You don't have to go to school. You just hang on when it's stormy When you're on the weather deck If a wave sneaks up behind you You'll get it in the neck. U 7514 fm Saba No doubt you are the sickest When you're hanging on the rail And the scuttle butt flies thickest On the fan tail. W'hen your chow flies off the table And lands right in your sack You just curse like Cain at Able And wish that you were back. With your little home town sweetheart And the boys down at the store But you'd miss your two stack sweetheart And you'd go to sea once more. So just beef and gripe and holler And curse and rave and roar But l'll bet my bottom dollar You'd be homesick on the shore. Sac! gn? 7fme Every division has a story to tell, The first and second as well, But among the tales of labor. Of reliability, endurance and favor, I know none better in fact, Than, that of the Laundry shack. That port-side vestibule of confusion, A veritable graveyard for perusion, Of socks and shirts of Khaki hue That are somehow mixed with dungarees too. Yet the policy of this shack Is to try to give all clothes back. Now there are four fine men Who inhabit this den, And lend an air Which is hard to compare, Between southern hospitality And Brooklyn originality: Monsieur Suttles is in charge lfVith Kubrick, second at large, Followed by Franz and Wade For Whose work, I hear, get paid. The efficiency of this motley four Is ever present through the open door. 117 Outside its door passes the parade, And into the passageway fade, To consume three meals a day, Or perhaps to collect their pay, But none from the laundry venture F or fear of possible censure. The washer churns all night U Grinding its noisy might. Unceasingly the steam press clamps Smoothing those wrinkled pants. The whites come in, the blues go back Cf speed, there is no lack. A liberty .port lies ahead. That alone, nuff said F or them, there is no rest. Preparing the guest F or the city that lies ashore. The laundry is open no more. Now this story has an ending With an appropriate phrase for blending, That will not be offending To anyone condescending To answer: Whatever became of that guy Brown? By Iohn Coleman.

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