(Note: Hello, dear readers! Thank you so much for picking up this new story. As you may know, for a new fanfiction to gain visibility and reach a wider audience on this platform, it needs to meet a certain word count threshold. This chapter is a temporary "filler" chapter designed to help with that. It is not part of the main narrative, and I will likely remove it later on once the story gets going.
However, I didn't want to just fill it with blank space. Instead, I thought it might be interesting to create a sort of appendix or special feature about the music that the men of the 101st Airborne, and soldiers across the Allied armies, would have actually sung.
Music was a massive part of the soldier's life—it was a source of motivation, a way to complain, a connection to home, and a method of bonding with the men to your left and right. So, please enjoy this deep dive into the soundtrack of the Second World War. Thank you for your understanding and support!)
The Songs They Carried: Music and Morale in the ETOA soldier's life is one of extremes: endless, mind-numbing boredom punctuated by moments of sheer, adrenaline-fueled terror. In the long hours between those extremes—on grueling marches, in the back of rumbling transport trucks, huddled in drafty barracks, or waiting in a muddy foxhole for the order to move—there was a constant companion: music.
For the men of the 101st Airborne and millions of other GIs, music was more than just entertainment. It was a tool. It was a weapon against despair, a shield against fear, and a thread connecting them to the lives they had left behind. The songs they sang were not always the patriotic anthems cranked out by the propaganda machine. More often, they were grassroots creations, born of shared experience and sung with a mix of gallows humor, cynical complaint, and heartfelt longing.
These songs fell into several distinct categories. There were the marching cadences, whose rhythm was more important than their lyrics, designed to keep thousands of feet hitting the ground in unison. There were the "gripe" songs, a time-honored military tradition of complaining about everything from the food to the sergeants, which served as a vital pressure-release valve. There were the bawdy, humorous songs, a way for young men far from home to blow off steam and revel in a bit of rebellious, crude fun. And there were the sentimental ballads, heard on the Armed Forces Radio, that spoke of sweethearts, families, and the dream of a peaceful future, reminding them what they were fighting for.
To understand the men of Easy Company, one must understand the sounds that filled their world. This is an exploration of that soundtrack, a look at the lyrics they sang and the powerful meaning behind the melodies.
1. Blood on the Risers (Gory Gory What a Hell of a Way to Die)
Perhaps no song is more emblematic of the paratrooper ethos than "Blood on the Risers." Sung to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," this piece of classic gallows humor confronts a paratrooper's single greatest fear—a parachute malfunction—and turns it into a rousing, almost cheerful chorus. For men who willingly jumped out of airplanes into enemy territory, facing that fear head-on through song was not just a coping mechanism; it was a rite of passage.
Singing it was a way of saying, "Yes, we know the risks. We know that death is a very real, and potentially messy, possibility. And we're going to laugh in its face." It was a filter. A man who couldn't stomach the dark humor of this song probably didn't have the psychological fortitude to be a paratrooper in the first place. The song bonded the men through a shared understanding of their unique and perilous job. It was a macabre inside joke, and being in on it meant you were one of them. It wasn't about being morbid; it was about control. In a situation where they had very little control over their ultimate fate, they could at least control their reaction to it. They could choose to sing about the worst possible outcome, thereby robbing it of some of its power to terrorize them in silence.
Lyrics:
He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,
He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"
(Chorus)
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
He ain't gonna jump no more!
"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,
Our hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,
He jerked his cord, the silk spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,
The lines were snarled and tied in knots around his skinny bones;
The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,
He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;
He thought about the medics, and wondered what they'd find,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,
The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,
For it had been a week or more since last a 'chute had failed,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT," his blood went spurting high;
His comrades then were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"
He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the 'chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper's boots,
They picked him up, still in his 'chute, and poured him from his boots.
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
2. Bless 'Em All
If "Blood on the Risers" was specific to paratroopers, "Bless 'Em All" was the universal anthem of the Allied enlisted man. Originally a British Royal Air Force song from the 1920s, its sentiment was so perfectly aligned with the soldier's worldview that it was eagerly adopted by American GIs. The song is a masterclass in military griping, a tradition as old as armies themselves.
The act of complaining is a crucial social ritual in the military. It builds solidarity among the lower ranks, creating an "us" (the enlisted men who do the work) versus "them" (the officers and NCOs who give the orders). Singing "Bless 'Em All" was a safe and communal way to vent frustrations that, if expressed individually, might lead to disciplinary action. It was a collective sigh, a shared eye-roll set to music. The lyrics target the symbols of military authority and hardship: the sergeants, the "long and the short and the tall," the commanding officers, and the sheer injustice of their predicament. The "bless 'em all" of the chorus is, of course, a euphemism, and every soldier singing it knew the actual word that was being replaced, adding a layer of subversive satisfaction to the act.
Lyrics (A common, slightly cleaned-up version):
Bless 'em all, bless 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
Bless all the sergeants and W.O. ones,
Bless all the corp'rals and their blinkin' sons.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
Bless 'em all, bless 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
There's many a soldier has blest 'em before us,
And many a soldier will bless 'em to come.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the billets we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
Bless the lieutenants and captains and all,
Bless the majors and colonels, we'll give 'em a call,
And when we are out on the big parade ground,
We'll give 'em a cheer, boys, and loudly we'll sound.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
(Soldiers would often substitute their own verses, complaining about specific places, people, or types of military food, making the song an ever-evolving chronicle of their misery.)
3. The Duckworth Chant (Sound Off)
Not all army songs were for morale or complaining. Some were purely functional, and none more so than the marching cadence. The rhythmic call-and-response chant is essential for moving a large body of troops over a long distance, keeping them in step, and preventing the march from devolving into a disorganized shamble. The most famous of these, the one that codified the "Sound Off! 1-2! Sound Off! 3-4!" format, was created in 1944 by a Black private named Willie Duckworth at Fort Benning, Georgia.
The story goes that Duckworth, a rhythmic man, was chanting to himself while marching, and his drill instructor, impressed, had him teach it to the company. The cadence was so effective at improving the men's marching discipline and morale that it was adopted and spread throughout the Army. The genius of the Duckworth Chant is its simplicity and hypnotic rhythm. The words themselves are secondary to the beat. The call from the drill leader and the response from the formation create a powerful feedback loop, uniting the men in a single, moving organism. It transforms the drudgery of a long march into a collective, percussive performance. It's a tool for focus, a way to make the miles pass by without conscious thought, leaving the body works on autopilot.
Lyrics (The original is simple, but it formed the basis for countless variations):
(Leader): Sound off!
(Formation): One, two!
(Leader): Sound off!
(Formation): Three, four!
(Leader): Cadence count!
(Formation): One, two, three, four, one, two... THREE, FOUR!
(Leader): I had a good home but I left!
(Formation): I had a good home but I left!
(Leader): You're right!
(Formation): You're right!
(Leader): Jody was there when I left!
(Formation): Jody was there when I left!
(Leader): You're right!
(Formation): You're right!
(This basic structure could be endlessly adapted with verses about army life, girls back home, or boasts about the unit's toughness.)
4. Gee, Mom, I Want to Go Home
This song is another classic of the "complaint" genre, but it differs from "Bless 'Em All" in its tone. Where "Bless 'Em All" is defiant and cynical, "Gee, Mom, I Want to Go Home" is more of a lament. It's the song of the homesick boy inside the soldier, the recently-made GI who still can't quite believe the absurd and uncomfortable new reality he's been thrust into.
The song uses humor to highlight the stark contrast between civilian life and military existence. Each verse takes a basic element of army life—the food, the drills, the clothing—and describes it in the most unflattering, comical terms possible. The coffee is "good for cuts and iodine," the biscuits are so hard "they use them for building walls." The humor is a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the genuine hardship and deprivation by exaggerating it to the point of absurdity. The recurring refrain, "Oh, I wanna go home, But the army won't let me go home," is a simple, poignant expression of their powerlessness. They are cogs in a machine, and all they can do is sing about how much they miss the freedom and comfort they once took for granted.
Lyrics:
The coffee that they give us, they say is mighty fine,
It's good for cuts and bruises and tastes like iodine.
(Chorus)
Oh, I don't want no more of army life,
Gee, Mom, I wanna go home!
Oh, I don't want no more of army life,
Gee, Mom, I wanna go home!
The biscuits that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
A baker took a biscuit and broke a leg of mine.
(Chorus)
The chickens that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
One jumped off the table and started marking time.
(Chorus)
The eggs that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
You can tell they're fresh and tender, 'cause they float in turpentine.
(Chorus)
The clothing that they give us, they say is mighty fine,
Me and my buddy, we can both fit into mine.
(Chorus)
The shots that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
They shoot you in the arm, and you go deaf, dumb, and blind.
(Chorus)
The sergeants that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
But they're either pushing fifty or they're only seventeen.
5. Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition
While soldiers had their own grassroots music, they were also consumers of the patriotic, morale-boosting hits that dominated the airwaves. No song better captured the American fighting spirit in the early years of the war than "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition." Written by Frank Loesser, the song was inspired by the story of a chaplain on a warship during the attack on Pearl Harbor who, after administering last rites, allegedly began manning a machine gun to help defend the ship.
The song was a sensation. It perfectly blended piety and pugnacity, creating a powerful message that America's cause was not just a military one, but a righteous and divinely sanctioned one. The image of the "sky pilot" (a slang term for chaplain) laying down his Bible to pick up a gun was a potent piece of propaganda. It suggested a unity of purpose, that every American, from the most devout to the most battle-hardened, was in the fight together. For soldiers in the field, it was a song that could provide a jolt of motivation. It framed their struggle in epic, heroic terms. While they might privately gripe about their leaders and their food, this song reminded them of the larger narrative they were a part of—a grand crusade against evil. It was a song that connected the foxhole to the home front, a shared anthem of national resolve.
Lyrics:
Down went the gunner, a bullet was his fate,
Down went the gunner, and then the gunner's mate,
Up jumped the sky pilot, gave the boys a look,
And manned the gun himself as he laid aside The Book, shouting!
(Chorus)
"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
And we'll all stay free!"
Praise the Lord and swing into position,
Can't afford to sit around a-wishin',
Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition,
And the deep blue sea!
Yes, the sky pilot said it,
Ya gotta give him credit,
For a son-of-a-gun of a gunner was he, shouting!
(Chorus)
Praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission,
All aboard, we ain't a-goin' fishin',
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,
And we'll all stay free!
6. Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (With Anyone Else but Me)
War is long periods of separation, and one of the biggest anxieties for a soldier overseas was the fear of being forgotten or replaced by the sweetheart he left behind. The "Dear John" letter was a specter that haunted every mail call. Popular music of the era often addressed this anxiety, and no song did so more cheerfully than "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree."
Made famous by the Andrews Sisters, whose harmonious vocals were a staple of the Armed Forces Radio, the song is an upbeat, catchy tune that frames the plea for fidelity in a lighthearted, almost playful way. It wasn't a mournful ballad but a swingin', danceable number. This approach was key to its success. It allowed soldiers and their loved ones to acknowledge the underlying fear of infidelity without dwelling on it morbidly. It transformed a source of anxiety into a shared, romantic promise. Hearing this song on the radio was a direct link to the world of dates, dances, and romance that they had left behind. It was a musical stand-in for the letters they sent and received, a reminder of the personal stakes of the war: the fight to get back home to the person waiting for them.
Lyrics:
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
Don't go walking down lover's lane with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't go walking down lover's lane with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
I just got a letter, I got a letter from my guy in the service,
He says he's coming home to me, he says he's coming home to see me,
And I know that he won't be untrue to me, 'cause he's my guy!
And I'll be true to him, 'cause he's my guy!
So, don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
I know that the service is tough, but he's got to do his duty,
And I know that I'll be lonely, so lonely, but I'll be a good girl,
I'll be a good girl and I will wait for him, yes I will!
And when he comes back, we will be so happy!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home, 'til I come marching home!
7. Lili Marleen
The story of "Lili Marleen" is one of the most fascinating musical phenomena of the Second World War. It was a German song, a sentimental poem about a soldier longing for his love, set to music. It was not a piece of propaganda, but a simple, melancholy love song. Through a German radio station in occupied Belgrade, its broadcast reached across the Mediterranean to the British and Commonwealth troops fighting in the North African desert. They fell in love with it.
Soon, an English version was written, and the song's popularity exploded. It became a truly international anthem, beloved by soldiers on both sides of the conflict. In the evenings, men in German panzers and British tanks, in American foxholes and Italian bunkers, would tune their radios to hear the same haunting melody. For those few minutes, the war seemed to fade away. The song spoke to a universal experience that transcended politics and uniforms: the ache of separation, the memory of a loved one, and the hope of reunion. It was a moment of shared humanity in the midst of mechanized slaughter. The fact that they were singing the same song as their enemy was not lost on the soldiers, and it added a layer of profound poignancy to the experience. It was a reminder that the man on the other side of the line was, in some fundamental way, just like them.
Lyrics (English Version):
Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate,
Darling, I remember the way you used to wait.
'Twas there that you whispered tenderly,
That you loved me, you'd always be,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Time would come for roll call, time for us to part,
Darling, I'd caress you and press you to my heart.
And there 'neath that lantern bright,
I'd hold you tight, I'd kiss you goodnight,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Orders came for sailing, somewhere over there,
All confined to barracks was more than I could bear.
I knew you were waiting in the street,
I heard your feet, but could not meet,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Resting in our billet, just behind the line,
Even though we're parted, your lips are close to mine.
When twilight encircles all the camp,
Through the mist, I see a lamp,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
8. I'll Be Seeing You
Where some songs of separation were upbeat promises of a future reunion, "I'll Be Seeing You" took a different, more ethereal and poignant approach. It wasn't about the future; it was about the enduring presence of a loved one in the here and now, woven into the fabric of everyday life. The song, with its gentle melody and evocative lyrics, became one of the defining ballads of the war for this very reason.
For a soldier thousands of miles from home, memory was a sanctuary. This song gave that sanctuary a voice. It captured the way a familiar sight—a "small cafe," a "park across the way," the "morning sun," or the "moon at night"—could instantly trigger a vivid memory of the person they missed. It spoke to the idea that love wasn't just a promise for when the war was over, but a constant, living presence that could be felt in a quiet moment, even in a muddy field in France or a bombed-out town in Germany. It's a song about the ghosts we carry with us, the friendly and welcome apparitions of those we love. For the soldier, it was a quiet affirmation that he was not truly alone, that the person he was fighting for was with him in spirit, in every familiar sight that reminded him of home.
Lyrics:
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places,
That this heart of mine embraces all day through.
In that small cafe, the park across the way,
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way.
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way.
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
9. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy
If any sound defined the sheer, unadulterated energy of the American home front, it was the swing music of the big bands, and no group captured that sound better for the troops than the Andrews Sisters. "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" was their masterpiece, a lightning-fast, tongue-twisting, and impossibly catchy tune that became an anthem for the modern, mobilized America.
The song tells the fictional story of a trumpeter drafted into the army whose job is now just to blow reveille. He's miserable until his captain drafts other musicians to "jam" with him, transforming the drab routine of army life into a swinging party. This was pure, uncut propaganda, but it was brilliant. It presented the US Army not as a place of drudgery and fear, but as a dynamic, exciting environment where American ingenuity and culture could flourish. It was a fantasy, of course, but a powerful one. For the soldiers, it was a shot of pure adrenaline. It was the sound of the world they came from—a world of jitterbugging, slang, and explosive energy. Hearing it on the radio or at a USO show was a reminder of American exceptionalism, a musical declaration that even in uniform, they were still the coolest cats around. It was a song that made you want to tap your feet, snap your fingers, and win the war in style.
Lyrics:
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,
He had a boogie style that no one else could play.
He was the top man at his craft,
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft.
He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.
They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam,
It really brought him down because he couldn't jam.
The captain seemed to understand,
Because the next day the cap' went out and drafted a band!
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddely-ada-toot!
He blows it eight-to-the-bar, in boogie rhythm.
He can't blow a note unless the bass and guitar is playin' with 'im.
He makes the company heel and toe,
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
He was some boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B,
And when he plays the boogie woogie bugle he was busy as a "bzzz" bee,
And when he plays he makes the company jump with glee,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddely-ada-toot!
He puts the boys to sleep with boogie every night,
And wakes 'em up the same way in the early bright.
They clap their hands and stamp their feet,
Because they know how he plays when someone gives him a beat.
He really breaks it up when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
10. (There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover
For the countless American GIs stationed in England in the years and months leading up to D-Day, the sounds of Britain became part of their world. And no voice was more quintessentially British during the war than that of Dame Vera Lynn, the "Forces' Sweetheart." Her songs were anthems of resilience and hope, and none was more powerful than "The White Cliffs of Dover."
The song is a beautiful piece of patriotic poetry, painting a picture of a future where peace has returned to England. It lists the simple, idyllic things that have been lost to war—"love and laughter and peace ever after"—and promises they will return. The white cliffs themselves are a potent symbol, the first and last sight of home for British servicemen, and a beacon of defiance against the enemy just across the Channel. For the American soldiers in their midst, the song had a dual meaning. It was an expression of solidarity with their British allies, a recognition of the immense suffering and endurance of the British people. But it also spoke to a universal longing. Every soldier, no matter their nationality, dreamt of the day when the war would be over and they could return to a world of peace and normalcy. This song was the anthem for that dream, a gentle yet powerful promise that "tomorrow, when the world is free."
Lyrics:
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after,
Tomorrow, when the world is free.
The shepherd will tend his sheep, the valley will bloom again,
And Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again.
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
I'll never forget the people I met, braving those angry skies,
I remember well, as the shadows fell, the light of hope in their eyes.
And though I'm far away, I can still hear them say, "Thumbs up!"
For when the dawn comes up...
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after,
Tomorrow, when the world is free.
11. This Is the Army, Mr. Jones
While soldiers created their own gripe songs, the US Army was smart enough to create one of its own. Penned by the legendary Irving Berlin for his all-soldier stage musical This Is the Army, this song was a work of genius. It took all the common complaints of a new draftee—the ridiculously early mornings, the ill-fitting uniforms, the endless marching, the awful food—and set them to a jaunty, humorous tune.
The song served as a brilliant pressure-release valve. It allowed the Army to acknowledge the soldier's misery in a controlled, sanctioned way. By making a joke out of the hardships, it took the venom out of the complaints. A soldier hearing this song felt seen and understood. It wasn't just him; everyone was going through the same absurd experience. The refrain, "This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones," was a funny, succinct summary of the shock of being stripped of one's civilian identity. It was a communal laugh at their shared predicament, which, in a strange way, fostered a sense of unity and pride. It was a way of saying, "Yes, this is tough and ridiculous, but we're all in it together, so we might as well laugh about it."
Lyrics:
A bunch of frightened rookies, were listening on the ropes,
The sergeant snarled a lecture, that shattered all their hopes,
And as he demonstrated a rifle and a pack,
A rookie in the rear row, was heard to answer back:
"This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones,
You've had your breakfast in bed before, but you won't have it there anymore.
This is the Army, Mr. Brown, you're in the patriotic town,
You're mother's boy, but you're not in her care, you've got to learn to take it on the chin out here.
Five A.M. is reveille, so you can't sleep late,
They'll wake you with a bugle, that you will learn to hate.
The coffee's weak and muddy, the bacon's old and tough,
And when you think you've had enough, you've never had enough.
This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones,
You've had your breakfast in bed before, but you won't have it there anymore.
Your uniform is O.D. green, the ugliest you've ever seen,
It may not fit, but what the heck, at least it covers up your neck.
This is the Army! This is the Army! This is the Army!"
12. The Army Air Corps Song (The U.S. Air Force)
For the paratroopers of the 101st Airborne, their entire profession was dependent on the men and machines of the U.S. Army Air Forces. Every jump, every mission began inside the fuselage of a C-47 Skytrain. The official song of the Air Corps was therefore a sound of both partnership and power. It was a world away from the gritty, ground-level complaints of the infantry. This song was about soaring, about power, and about taking the fight to the enemy from above.
The lyrics are filled with a kind of romantic, technological swagger: "Off we go into the wild blue yonder," "Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder," "Hands of men blasted the world asunder." It's a celebration of American air power, a crucial component of the Allied war machine. For a paratrooper, hearing this song would be a reminder of the massive organization they were a part of. While they were the tip of the spear, the song represented the incredible industrial and military might that delivered them to the battlefield. Seeing a formation of C-47s or a squadron of P-51 Mustangs overhead was a profoundly reassuring sight, and this song was its musical embodiment—a proud, thunderous anthem for the masters of the sky.
Lyrics (WWII Version):
Off we go into the wild blue yonder,
Climbing high into the sun;
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At 'em boys, give 'er the gun!
Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,
Off with one helluva roar!
We live in fame or go down in flame,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder,
Sent it high into the blue;
Hands of men blasted the world asunder,
How they lived God only knew!
Souls of men dreaming of skies to conquer
Gave us wings, ever to soar!
With scouts before and bombers galore,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
Here's a toast to the host of those who love the vastness of the sky,
To a friend we send a message of his brother men who fly.
We drink to those who gave their all of old,
Then down we roar to score the rainbow's pot of gold.
A toast to the host of men we boast, the Army Air Corps!
Off we go into the wild sky yonder,
Keep the wings level and true;
If you'd live to be a grey-haired wonder
Keep the nose out of the blue!
Flying men, guarding the nation's border,
We'll be there, followed by more!
In echelon we carry on,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
13. Additional Marching Cadences
While the Duckworth Chant laid the foundation, individual drill sergeants and units developed thousands of variations to keep marches interesting, instill unit pride, and just pass the time. These call-and-response chants were an endlessly adaptable art form. Here is a collection of common cadences that would have been heard on training fields across America and England.
I HEAR THE CHOPPERS HOVERING
I hear the choppers hovering
They're hovering over head
They've come to get the wounded
They've come to get the dead
My buddy's in a foxhole
A bullet in his head
The medic says he's wounded
But I know that he's dead
HEY, HEY CAPTAIN JACK
Hey, hey Captain Jack
Meet me down by the railroad tracks
With that rifle in my hand
I'm gonna be a shooting man
A shooting man
The best I can be
For my country and my team
DOWN BY THE RIVER
Down by the river
Took a little walk
Ran into some terrorists
Had a little talk
Pushed them and shoved them
And threw them in the water
And laughed all the way
As I [screwed/dated] their daughter.
Note: As with many soldier-created verses, the language was often crude and changed depending on the audience.
HEY THAT JODY BOY
Hey that Jody boy, you know he's got it made
Laying in the shade
Drinking lemonade
Hey that Jody boy, you know he's got it good
Now he's dating Suzy
In my old neighborhood
I KNOW A GIRL
I know a girl who lives on a hill
She won't do it but her sister will
Some say she's picky, some say she's choosy
I don't care, I'm not that choosy
One-two-three-four, Hey!
We like it here!
We love it here!
We finally found a home!
SITTIN' ON THE PORCH SWING
Sittin' on the porch swing
Sippin' on a glass of wine
Along came my baby
Lookin' oh so fine
She said, "Hey there soldier,
Won't you be all mine?"
I said, "Hey there baby,
Get in the line."
THEY SAY THAT IN THE ARMY
They say that in the Army, the coffee's mighty fine
It looks like muddy water, and tastes like turpentine.
Chorus: Oh Lord, I wanna go, but they won't let me go, Hey!
They say that in the Army, the biscuits are mighty fine
One rolled off the table and killed a friend of mine.
(Chorus)
They say that in the Army, the chicken's mighty fine
A feather jumped off the table and started marking time.
(Chorus)
They say that in the Army, the pancakes are mighty fine
You can try to chew them, but you're only wasting time.
MY OLD MAN'S A FIREMAN
My old man's a fireman
In the city of Saint Lou
He gets all the [women/ladies]
When the fire is all through
My old man's a doctor
With an office on the square
He gets all the [women/ladies]
When their husbands aren't there
LITTLE BIRD
A little bird
With a yellow bill
Was sitting on
My window sill
I coaxed him in
With a piece of bread
And then I smashed
His little head
OLD LADY
I know an old lady who's ninety-three
She still wants to come and party with me
I told the old lady that cannot be
You are way too old to party with me
Chorus: Whatcha gonna do when you get back? Sit on the porch and drink a six-pack!
I know an old man who's ninety-four
He still wants to come and party some more
I told the old man that cannot be
You are way too old to party with me
UP IN THE MORNING
Up in the morning at the break of day
Working so hard, I don't have time to play
Running so fast, all day long
Singing my cadence, singing my song
C-130C-130 rolling down the strip
64 Rangers on a one way trip
Mission top secret, destination unknown
Don't know if we're ever coming home
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door
Jump right out and count to four
If my main don't open wide
I got a reserve by my side
If that one should fail me too
Look out below, I'm coming through!
EVERYWHERE WE GO
Everywhere we go
People want to know
Who we are
So we tell them
We're not the Navy
The deck-swabbing Navy
We're not the Air Force
The low-flying Air Force
We're not the Marines
They don't even look mean
We are the Army
The rough, tough Army
The mighty, mighty Army!
I CAN RUN TO MEXICO
I can run to Mexico (I can run to Mexico)
All the way to Mexico (All the way to Mexico)
I can run there in a day (I can run there in a day)
And be back by Saturday (And be back by Saturday)
If I wanted to (If I wanted to)
I'd be a ranger too (I'd be a ranger too)
Rangers lead the way (Rangers lead the way)
All the way, Hooah! (All the way, Hooah!)
OLD KING COLE
Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl
And he called for his privates three
"Beer, beer, beer!" said the privates
"Merry men are we!
There's none so fair as can compare
With the First Sergeant's company!"
(This cadence has many variations for different ranks: corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, etc., with each rank having a different, often humorous, response.)
******
(Author's Note: Hello, dear readers! Thank you so much for picking up this new story. As you may know, for a new fanfiction to gain visibility and reach a wider audience on this platform, it needs to meet a certain word count threshold. This chapter is a temporary "filler" chapter designed to help with that. It is not part of the main narrative, and I will likely remove it later on once the story gets going. However, I didn't want to just fill it with blank space. Instead, I thought it might be interesting to create a sort of appendix or special feature about the music that the men of the 101st Airborne, and soldiers across the Allied armies, would have actually listened to and sung. Music was a massive part of the soldier's life—it was a source of motivation, a way to complain, a connection to home, and a method of bonding with the men to your left and right. So, please enjoy this deep dive into the soundtrack of the Second World War. The first official story chapter will be posted shortly! Thank you for your understanding and support!)
The Songs They Carried: Music and Morale in the ETOA soldier's life is one of extremes: endless, mind-numbing boredom punctuated by moments of sheer, adrenaline-fueled terror. In the long hours between those extremes—on grueling marches, in the back of rumbling transport trucks, huddled in drafty barracks, or waiting in a muddy foxhole for the order to move—there was a constant companion: music.
For the men of the 101st Airborne and millions of other GIs, music was more than just entertainment. It was a tool. It was a weapon against despair, a shield against fear, and a thread connecting them to the lives they had left behind. The songs they sang were not always the patriotic anthems cranked out by the propaganda machine. More often, they were grassroots creations, born of shared experience and sung with a mix of gallows humor, cynical complaint, and heartfelt longing.
These songs fell into several distinct categories. There were the marching cadences, whose rhythm was more important than their lyrics, designed to keep thousands of feet hitting the ground in unison. There were the "gripe" songs, a time-honored military tradition of complaining about everything from the food to the sergeants, which served as a vital pressure-release valve. There were the bawdy, humorous songs, a way for young men far from home to blow off steam and revel in a bit of rebellious, crude fun. And there were the sentimental ballads, heard on the Armed Forces Radio, that spoke of sweethearts, families, and the dream of a peaceful future, reminding them what they were fighting for.
To understand the men of Easy Company, one must understand the sounds that filled their world. This is an exploration of that soundtrack, a look at the lyrics they sang and the powerful meaning behind the melodies.
1. Blood on the Risers (Gory Gory What a Hell of a Way to Die)
Perhaps no song is more emblematic of the paratrooper ethos than "Blood on the Risers." Sung to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," this piece of classic gallows humor confronts a paratrooper's single greatest fear—a parachute malfunction—and turns it into a rousing, almost cheerful chorus. For men who willingly jumped out of airplanes into enemy territory, facing that fear head-on through song was not just a coping mechanism; it was a rite of passage.
Singing it was a way of saying, "Yes, we know the risks. We know that death is a very real, and potentially messy, possibility. And we're going to laugh in its face." It was a filter. A man who couldn't stomach the dark humor of this song probably didn't have the psychological fortitude to be a paratrooper in the first place. The song bonded the men through a shared understanding of their unique and perilous job. It was a macabre inside joke, and being in on it meant you were one of them. It wasn't about being morbid; it was about control. In a situation where they had very little control over their ultimate fate, they could at least control their reaction to it. They could choose to sing about the worst possible outcome, thereby robbing it of some of its power to terrorize them in silence.
Lyrics:
He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,
He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"
(Chorus)
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die!
He ain't gonna jump no more!
"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,
Our hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,
He jerked his cord, the silk spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,
The lines were snarled and tied in knots around his skinny bones;
The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,
He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;
He thought about the medics, and wondered what they'd find,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,
The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,
For it had been a week or more since last a 'chute had failed,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT," his blood went spurting high;
His comrades then were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"
He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
(Chorus)
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the 'chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper's boots,
They picked him up, still in his 'chute, and poured him from his boots.
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
2. Bless 'Em All
If "Blood on the Risers" was specific to paratroopers, "Bless 'Em All" was the universal anthem of the Allied enlisted man. Originally a British Royal Air Force song from the 1920s, its sentiment was so perfectly aligned with the soldier's worldview that it was eagerly adopted by American GIs. The song is a masterclass in military griping, a tradition as old as armies themselves.
The act of complaining is a crucial social ritual in the military. It builds solidarity among the lower ranks, creating an "us" (the enlisted men who do the work) versus "them" (the officers and NCOs who give the orders). Singing "Bless 'Em All" was a safe and communal way to vent frustrations that, if expressed individually, might lead to disciplinary action. It was a collective sigh, a shared eye-roll set to music. The lyrics target the symbols of military authority and hardship: the sergeants, the "long and the short and the tall," the commanding officers, and the sheer injustice of their predicament. The "bless 'em all" of the chorus is, of course, a euphemism, and every soldier singing it knew the actual word that was being replaced, adding a layer of subversive satisfaction to the act.
Lyrics (A common, slightly cleaned-up version):
Bless 'em all, bless 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
Bless all the sergeants and W.O. ones,
Bless all the corp'rals and their blinkin' sons.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
Bless 'em all, bless 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
There's many a soldier has blest 'em before us,
And many a soldier will bless 'em to come.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the billets we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
Bless the lieutenants and captains and all,
Bless the majors and colonels, we'll give 'em a call,
And when we are out on the big parade ground,
We'll give 'em a cheer, boys, and loudly we'll sound.
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks we crawl,
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up my lads, bless 'em all.
(Soldiers would often substitute their own verses, complaining about specific places, people, or types of military food, making the song an ever-evolving chronicle of their misery.)
3. The Duckworth Chant (Sound Off)
Not all army songs were for morale or complaining. Some were purely functional, and none more so than the marching cadence. The rhythmic call-and-response chant is essential for moving a large body of troops over a long distance, keeping them in step, and preventing the march from devolving into a disorganized shamble. The most famous of these, the one that codified the "Sound Off! 1-2! Sound Off! 3-4!" format, was created in 1944 by a Black private named Willie Duckworth at Fort Benning, Georgia.
The story goes that Duckworth, a rhythmic man, was chanting to himself while marching, and his drill instructor, impressed, had him teach it to the company. The cadence was so effective at improving the men's marching discipline and morale that it was adopted and spread throughout the Army. The genius of the Duckworth Chant is its simplicity and hypnotic rhythm. The words themselves are secondary to the beat. The call from the drill leader and the response from the formation create a powerful feedback loop, uniting the men in a single, moving organism. It transforms the drudgery of a long march into a collective, percussive performance. It's a tool for focus, a way to make the miles pass by without conscious thought, leaving the body works on autopilot.
Lyrics (The original is simple, but it formed the basis for countless variations):
(Leader): Sound off!
(Formation): One, two!
(Leader): Sound off!
(Formation): Three, four!
(Leader): Cadence count!
(Formation): One, two, three, four, one, two... THREE, FOUR!
(Leader): I had a good home but I left!
(Formation): I had a good home but I left!
(Leader): You're right!
(Formation): You're right!
(Leader): Jody was there when I left!
(Formation): Jody was there when I left!
(Leader): You're right!
(Formation): You're right!
(This basic structure could be endlessly adapted with verses about army life, girls back home, or boasts about the unit's toughness.)
4. Gee, Mom, I Want to Go Home
This song is another classic of the "complaint" genre, but it differs from "Bless 'Em All" in its tone. Where "Bless 'Em All" is defiant and cynical, "Gee, Mom, I Want to Go Home" is more of a lament. It's the song of the homesick boy inside the soldier, the recently-made GI who still can't quite believe the absurd and uncomfortable new reality he's been thrust into.
The song uses humor to highlight the stark contrast between civilian life and military existence. Each verse takes a basic element of army life—the food, the drills, the clothing—and describes it in the most unflattering, comical terms possible. The coffee is "good for cuts and iodine," the biscuits are so hard "they use them for building walls." The humor is a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the genuine hardship and deprivation by exaggerating it to the point of absurdity. The recurring refrain, "Oh, I wanna go home, But the army won't let me go home," is a simple, poignant expression of their powerlessness. They are cogs in a machine, and all they can do is sing about how much they miss the freedom and comfort they once took for granted.
Lyrics:
The coffee that they give us, they say is mighty fine,
It's good for cuts and bruises and tastes like iodine.
(Chorus)
Oh, I don't want no more of army life,
Gee, Mom, I wanna go home!
Oh, I don't want no more of army life,
Gee, Mom, I wanna go home!
The biscuits that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
A baker took a biscuit and broke a leg of mine.
(Chorus)
The chickens that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
One jumped off the table and started marking time.
(Chorus)
The eggs that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
You can tell they're fresh and tender, 'cause they float in turpentine.
(Chorus)
The clothing that they give us, they say is mighty fine,
Me and my buddy, we can both fit into mine.
(Chorus)
The shots that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
They shoot you in the arm, and you go deaf, dumb, and blind.
(Chorus)
The sergeants that they give us, they say are mighty fine,
But they're either pushing fifty or they're only seventeen.
5. Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition
While soldiers had their own grassroots music, they were also consumers of the patriotic, morale-boosting hits that dominated the airwaves. No song better captured the American fighting spirit in the early years of the war than "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition." Written by Frank Loesser, the song was inspired by the story of a chaplain on a warship during the attack on Pearl Harbor who, after administering last rites, allegedly began manning a machine gun to help defend the ship.
The song was a sensation. It perfectly blended piety and pugnacity, creating a powerful message that America's cause was not just a military one, but a righteous and divinely sanctioned one. The image of the "sky pilot" (a slang term for chaplain) laying down his Bible to pick up a gun was a potent piece of propaganda. It suggested a unity of purpose, that every American, from the most devout to the most battle-hardened, was in the fight together. For soldiers in the field, it was a song that could provide a jolt of motivation. It framed their struggle in epic, heroic terms. While they might privately gripe about their leaders and their food, this song reminded them of the larger narrative they were a part of—a grand crusade against evil. It was a song that connected the foxhole to the home front, a shared anthem of national resolve.
Lyrics:
Down went the gunner, a bullet was his fate,
Down went the gunner, and then the gunner's mate,
Up jumped the sky pilot, gave the boys a look,
And manned the gun himself as he laid aside The Book, shouting!
(Chorus)
"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
And we'll all stay free!"
Praise the Lord and swing into position,
Can't afford to sit around a-wishin',
Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition,
And the deep blue sea!
Yes, the sky pilot said it,
Ya gotta give him credit,
For a son-of-a-gun of a gunner was he, shouting!
(Chorus)
Praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission,
All aboard, we ain't a-goin' fishin',
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,
And we'll all stay free!
6. Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (With Anyone Else but Me)
War is long periods of separation, and one of the biggest anxieties for a soldier overseas was the fear of being forgotten or replaced by the sweetheart he left behind. The "Dear John" letter was a specter that haunted every mail call. Popular music of the era often addressed this anxiety, and no song did so more cheerfully than "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree."
Made famous by the Andrews Sisters, whose harmonious vocals were a staple of the Armed Forces Radio, the song is an upbeat, catchy tune that frames the plea for fidelity in a lighthearted, almost playful way. It wasn't a mournful ballad but a swingin', danceable number. This approach was key to its success. It allowed soldiers and their loved ones to acknowledge the underlying fear of infidelity without dwelling on it morbidly. It transformed a source of anxiety into a shared, romantic promise. Hearing this song on the radio was a direct link to the world of dates, dances, and romance that they had left behind. It was a musical stand-in for the letters they sent and received, a reminder of the personal stakes of the war: the fight to get back home to the person waiting for them.
Lyrics:
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
Don't go walking down lover's lane with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't go walking down lover's lane with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
I just got a letter, I got a letter from my guy in the service,
He says he's coming home to me, he says he's coming home to see me,
And I know that he won't be untrue to me, 'cause he's my guy!
And I'll be true to him, 'cause he's my guy!
So, don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home.
I know that the service is tough, but he's got to do his duty,
And I know that I'll be lonely, so lonely, but I'll be a good girl,
I'll be a good girl and I will wait for him, yes I will!
And when he comes back, we will be so happy!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no, no, no!
Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
'Til I come marching home, 'til I come marching home!
7. Lili Marleen
The story of "Lili Marleen" is one of the most fascinating musical phenomena of the Second World War. It was a German song, a sentimental poem about a soldier longing for his love, set to music. It was not a piece of propaganda, but a simple, melancholy love song. Through a German radio station in occupied Belgrade, its broadcast reached across the Mediterranean to the British and Commonwealth troops fighting in the North African desert. They fell in love with it.
Soon, an English version was written, and the song's popularity exploded. It became a truly international anthem, beloved by soldiers on both sides of the conflict. In the evenings, men in German panzers and British tanks, in American foxholes and Italian bunkers, would tune their radios to hear the same haunting melody. For those few minutes, the war seemed to fade away. The song spoke to a universal experience that transcended politics and uniforms: the ache of separation, the memory of a loved one, and the hope of reunion. It was a moment of shared humanity in the midst of mechanized slaughter. The fact that they were singing the same song as their enemy was not lost on the soldiers, and it added a layer of profound poignancy to the experience. It was a reminder that the man on the other side of the line was, in some fundamental way, just like them.
Lyrics (English Version):
Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate,
Darling, I remember the way you used to wait.
'Twas there that you whispered tenderly,
That you loved me, you'd always be,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Time would come for roll call, time for us to part,
Darling, I'd caress you and press you to my heart.
And there 'neath that lantern bright,
I'd hold you tight, I'd kiss you goodnight,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Orders came for sailing, somewhere over there,
All confined to barracks was more than I could bear.
I knew you were waiting in the street,
I heard your feet, but could not meet,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
Resting in our billet, just behind the line,
Even though we're parted, your lips are close to mine.
When twilight encircles all the camp,
Through the mist, I see a lamp,
My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marleen.
8. I'll Be Seeing You
Where some songs of separation were upbeat promises of a future reunion, "I'll Be Seeing You" took a different, more ethereal and poignant approach. It wasn't about the future; it was about the enduring presence of a loved one in the here and now, woven into the fabric of everyday life. The song, with its gentle melody and evocative lyrics, became one of the defining ballads of the war for this very reason.
For a soldier thousands of miles from home, memory was a sanctuary. This song gave that sanctuary a voice. It captured the way a familiar sight—a "small cafe," a "park across the way," the "morning sun," or the "moon at night"—could instantly trigger a vivid memory of the person they missed. It spoke to the idea that love wasn't just a promise for when the war was over, but a constant, living presence that could be felt in a quiet moment, even in a muddy field in France or a bombed-out town in Germany. It's a song about the ghosts we carry with us, the friendly and welcome apparitions of those we love. For the soldier, it was a quiet affirmation that he was not truly alone, that the person he was fighting for was with him in spirit, in every familiar sight that reminded him of home.
Lyrics:
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places,
That this heart of mine embraces all day through.
In that small cafe, the park across the way,
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way.
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way.
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
9. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy
If any sound defined the sheer, unadulterated energy of the American home front, it was the swing music of the big bands, and no group captured that sound better for the troops than the Andrews Sisters. "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" was their masterpiece, a lightning-fast, tongue-twisting, and impossibly catchy tune that became an anthem for the modern, mobilized America.
The song tells the fictional story of a trumpeter drafted into the army whose job is now just to blow reveille. He's miserable until his captain drafts other musicians to "jam" with him, transforming the drab routine of army life into a swinging party. This was pure, uncut propaganda, but it was brilliant. It presented the US Army not as a place of drudgery and fear, but as a dynamic, exciting environment where American ingenuity and culture could flourish. It was a fantasy, of course, but a powerful one. For the soldiers, it was a shot of pure adrenaline. It was the sound of the world they came from—a world of jitterbugging, slang, and explosive energy. Hearing it on the radio or at a USO show was a reminder of American exceptionalism, a musical declaration that even in uniform, they were still the coolest cats around. It was a song that made you want to tap your feet, snap your fingers, and win the war in style.
Lyrics:
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,
He had a boogie style that no one else could play.
He was the top man at his craft,
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft.
He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.
They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam,
It really brought him down because he couldn't jam.
The captain seemed to understand,
Because the next day the cap' went out and drafted a band!
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddely-ada-toot!
He blows it eight-to-the-bar, in boogie rhythm.
He can't blow a note unless the bass and guitar is playin' with 'im.
He makes the company heel and toe,
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
He was some boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B,
And when he plays the boogie woogie bugle he was busy as a "bzzz" bee,
And when he plays he makes the company jump with glee,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddely-ada-toot!
He puts the boys to sleep with boogie every night,
And wakes 'em up the same way in the early bright.
They clap their hands and stamp their feet,
Because they know how he plays when someone gives him a beat.
He really breaks it up when he plays reveille,
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!
10. (There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover
For the countless American GIs stationed in England in the years and months leading up to D-Day, the sounds of Britain became part of their world. And no voice was more quintessentially British during the war than that of Dame Vera Lynn, the "Forces' Sweetheart." Her songs were anthems of resilience and hope, and none was more powerful than "The White Cliffs of Dover."
The song is a beautiful piece of patriotic poetry, painting a picture of a future where peace has returned to England. It lists the simple, idyllic things that have been lost to war—"love and laughter and peace ever after"—and promises they will return. The white cliffs themselves are a potent symbol, the first and last sight of home for British servicemen, and a beacon of defiance against the enemy just across the Channel. For the American soldiers in their midst, the song had a dual meaning. It was an expression of solidarity with their British allies, a recognition of the immense suffering and endurance of the British people. But it also spoke to a universal longing. Every soldier, no matter their nationality, dreamt of the day when the war would be over and they could return to a world of peace and normalcy. This song was the anthem for that dream, a gentle yet powerful promise that "tomorrow, when the world is free."
Lyrics:
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after,
Tomorrow, when the world is free.
The shepherd will tend his sheep, the valley will bloom again,
And Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again.
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
I'll never forget the people I met, braving those angry skies,
I remember well, as the shadows fell, the light of hope in their eyes.
And though I'm far away, I can still hear them say, "Thumbs up!"
For when the dawn comes up...
There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after,
Tomorrow, when the world is free.
11. This Is the Army, Mr. Jones
While soldiers created their own gripe songs, the US Army was smart enough to create one of its own. Penned by the legendary Irving Berlin for his all-soldier stage musical This Is the Army, this song was a work of genius. It took all the common complaints of a new draftee—the ridiculously early mornings, the ill-fitting uniforms, the endless marching, the awful food—and set them to a jaunty, humorous tune.
The song served as a brilliant pressure-release valve. It allowed the Army to acknowledge the soldier's misery in a controlled, sanctioned way. By making a joke out of the hardships, it took the venom out of the complaints. A soldier hearing this song felt seen and understood. It wasn't just him; everyone was going through the same absurd experience. The refrain, "This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones," was a funny, succinct summary of the shock of being stripped of one's civilian identity. It was a communal laugh at their shared predicament, which, in a strange way, fostered a sense of unity and pride. It was a way of saying, "Yes, this is tough and ridiculous, but we're all in it together, so we might as well laugh about it."
Lyrics:
A bunch of frightened rookies, were listening on the ropes,
The sergeant snarled a lecture, that shattered all their hopes,
And as he demonstrated a rifle and a pack,
A rookie in the rear row, was heard to answer back:
"This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones,
You've had your breakfast in bed before, but you won't have it there anymore.
This is the Army, Mr. Brown, you're in the patriotic town,
You're mother's boy, but you're not in her care, you've got to learn to take it on the chin out here.
Five A.M. is reveille, so you can't sleep late,
They'll wake you with a bugle, that you will learn to hate.
The coffee's weak and muddy, the bacon's old and tough,
And when you think you've had enough, you've never had enough.
This is the Army, Mr. Jones, no private rooms or telephones,
You've had your breakfast in bed before, but you won't have it there anymore.
Your uniform is O.D. green, the ugliest you've ever seen,
It may not fit, but what the heck, at least it covers up your neck.
This is the Army! This is the Army! This is the Army!"
12. The Army Air Corps Song (The U.S. Air Force)
For the paratroopers of the 101st Airborne, their entire profession was dependent on the men and machines of the U.S. Army Air Forces. Every jump, every mission began inside the fuselage of a C-47 Skytrain. The official song of the Air Corps was therefore a sound of both partnership and power. It was a world away from the gritty, ground-level complaints of the infantry. This song was about soaring, about power, and about taking the fight to the enemy from above.
The lyrics are filled with a kind of romantic, technological swagger: "Off we go into the wild blue yonder," "Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder," "Hands of men blasted the world asunder." It's a celebration of American air power, a crucial component of the Allied war machine. For a paratrooper, hearing this song would be a reminder of the massive organization they were a part of. While they were the tip of the spear, the song represented the incredible industrial and military might that delivered them to the battlefield. Seeing a formation of C-47s or a squadron of P-51 Mustangs overhead was a profoundly reassuring sight, and this song was its musical embodiment—a proud, thunderous anthem for the masters of the sky.
Lyrics (WWII Version):
Off we go into the wild blue yonder,
Climbing high into the sun;
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At 'em boys, give 'er the gun!
Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,
Off with one helluva roar!
We live in fame or go down in flame,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder,
Sent it high into the blue;
Hands of men blasted the world asunder,
How they lived God only knew!
Souls of men dreaming of skies to conquer
Gave us wings, ever to soar!
With scouts before and bombers galore,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
Here's a toast to the host of those who love the vastness of the sky,
To a friend we send a message of his brother men who fly.
We drink to those who gave their all of old,
Then down we roar to score the rainbow's pot of gold.
A toast to the host of men we boast, the Army Air Corps!
Off we go into the wild sky yonder,
Keep the wings level and true;
If you'd live to be a grey-haired wonder
Keep the nose out of the blue!
Flying men, guarding the nation's border,
We'll be there, followed by more!
In echelon we carry on,
Nothing'll stop the Army Air Corps!
13. Additional Marching Cadences
While the Duckworth Chant laid the foundation, individual drill sergeants and units developed thousands of variations to keep marches interesting, instill unit pride, and just pass the time. These call-and-response chants were an endlessly adaptable art form. Here is a collection of common cadences that would have been heard on training fields across America and England.
I HEAR THE CHOPPERS HOVERING
I hear the choppers hovering
They're hovering over head
They've come to get the wounded
They've come to get the dead
My buddy's in a foxhole
A bullet in his head
The medic says he's wounded
But I know that he's dead
HEY, HEY CAPTAIN JACK
Hey, hey Captain Jack
Meet me down by the railroad tracks
With that rifle in my hand
I'm gonna be a shooting man
A shooting man
The best I can be
For my country and my team
DOWN BY THE RIVER
Down by the river
Took a little walk
Ran into some terrorists
Had a little talk
Pushed them and shoved them
And threw them in the water
And laughed all the way
As I [screwed/dated] their daughter.
Note: As with many soldier-created verses, the language was often crude and changed depending on the audience.
HEY THAT JODY BOY
Hey that Jody boy, you know he's got it made
Laying in the shade
Drinking lemonade
Hey that Jody boy, you know he's got it good
Now he's dating Suzy
In my old neighborhood
I KNOW A GIRL
I know a girl who lives on a hill
She won't do it but her sister will
Some say she's picky, some say she's choosy
I don't care, I'm not that choosy
One-two-three-four, Hey!
We like it here!
We love it here!
We finally found a home!
SITTIN' ON THE PORCH SWING
Sittin' on the porch swing
Sippin' on a glass of wine
Along came my baby
Lookin' oh so fine
She said, "Hey there soldier,
Won't you be all mine?"
I said, "Hey there baby,
Get in the line."
THEY SAY THAT IN THE ARMY
They say that in the Army, the coffee's mighty fine
It looks like muddy water, and tastes like turpentine.
Chorus: Oh Lord, I wanna go, but they won't let me go, Hey!
They say that in the Army, the biscuits are mighty fine
One rolled off the table and killed a friend of mine.
(Chorus)
They say that in the Army, the chicken's mighty fine
A feather jumped off the table and started marking time.
(Chorus)
They say that in the Army, the pancakes are mighty fine
You can try to chew them, but you're only wasting time.
MY OLD MAN'S A FIREMAN
My old man's a fireman
In the city of Saint Lou
He gets all the [women/ladies]
When the fire is all through
My old man's a doctor
With an office on the square
He gets all the [women/ladies]
When their husbands aren't there
LITTLE BIRD
A little bird
With a yellow bill
Was sitting on
My window sill
I coaxed him in
With a piece of bread
And then I smashed
His little head
OLD LADY
I know an old lady who's ninety-three
She still wants to come and party with me
I told the old lady that cannot be
You are way too old to party with me
Chorus: Whatcha gonna do when you get back? Sit on the porch and drink a six-pack!
I know an old man who's ninety-four
He still wants to come and party some more
I told the old man that cannot be
You are way too old to party with me
UP IN THE MORNING
Up in the morning at the break of day
Working so hard, I don't have time to play
Running so fast, all day long
Singing my cadence, singing my song
C-130C-130 rolling down the strip
64 Rangers on a one way trip
Mission top secret, destination unknown
Don't know if we're ever coming home
Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door
Jump right out and count to four
If my main don't open wide
I got a reserve by my side
If that one should fail me too
Look out below, I'm coming through!
EVERYWHERE WE GO
Everywhere we go
People want to know
Who we are
So we tell them
We're not the Navy
The deck-swabbing Navy
We're not the Air Force
The low-flying Air Force
We're not the Marines
They don't even look mean
We are the Army
The rough, tough Army
The mighty, mighty Army!
I CAN RUN TO MEXICO
I can run to Mexico (I can run to Mexico)
All the way to Mexico (All the way to Mexico)
I can run there in a day (I can run there in a day)
And be back by Saturday (And be back by Saturday)
If I wanted to (If I wanted to)
I'd be a ranger too (I'd be a ranger too)
Rangers lead the way (Rangers lead the way)
All the way, Hooah! (All the way, Hooah!)
OLD KING COLE
Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl
And he called for his privates three
"Beer, beer, beer!" said the privates
"Merry men are we!
There's none so fair as can compare
With the First Sergeant's company!"
(This cadence has many variations for different ranks: corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, etc., with each rank having a different, often humorous, response.)