And up there was doing well,
I wouldn’t, yet, be satisfied
Till I’d got a look at hell!
H. H. Huss, Sgt., Inf.
THE TANK
Oh, she’s nothin’ sweet to look at an’ no symphony to hear;
She ain’t no pome of beauty, that’s a cinch—
She howls like Holy Jumpin’ when a feller shifts a gear,
But she’s sure a lovey-dovey in a pinch.
Just head her straight for Berlin and no matter what the road,