Poem to Submariner Child * Pinging Pete Chidori * Happy Birthday
Pampanito * Pampanito II * Night before Diego * Galloping Ghost * Xmas
Submarine Sailors * The Last Patrol * Down off Kashi-Ho * For I am a Submariner
* The Ballad of the Blue Beret * Submarine * Remember * Shops of the Devil *
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A World War I poem found by a submariner in 1966 at the Submarine Base, Groton, CT / Author unknown.)
Born in the shops of the devil, Designed in the brains of a fiend; Filled with acid and crude oil, And christened "A Submarine."
The poets send their ditties, Of Battleships spick and clean; But never a word in their columns, Do you see a submarine?
I'll try and depict our story, In a very laconic way; Please have patience to listen, Until I have finished my say.
We eat where'er we can find it, And sleep hanging up on the hooks; Conditions under which we're existing, Are never published in books.
Life on these boats is obnoxious, And that is using mild terms; We are never bothered by sickness, There isn't any room for germs.
We are never troubled with varmints, There are things even a cockroach can't stand. And any self-respecting rodent, Quick as possible beats it for land.
And that little one dollar per dive, We receive to submerge out of sight; Is often earned more than double, By charging batteries at night.
And that extra compensation, We receive on boats like these; We never really get it all, It's spent on soap and dungarees.
Machinists get soaked in fuel oil, Electricians in H2SO4; Gunnersmates with 600W, And torpedo slush galore.
When we come into the Navy Yard, We are looked upon with disgrace; And they make out some new regulations, To fit our particular case.
Now all you Battleship sailors, When you are feeling disgruntled and mean; Just pack your bag and hammock, And go to "A Submarine."
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