SONG OF THE POP-GUN CHORISTER

"Let's intigrate the services!" was the minister's glad cry,
And he swiftly set about the task, but as time went by,
He found he had his troubles with the soldiers of the line,
So he wiped out all their regiments and everything was fine.

Chorus:

Watch our Navy go to glory,
Watch our Army go to glory,
Watch our Air Force, same old story,
If you don't like integration you can damned well go to pot!

"The plan is running smoothly," was the news he gave the house;
But someone bellowed "Mutiny!" for someone murmered "Louse."
The minister, as tough as nails, with hands upon his hips,
Dealt roughly with the Navy boys and moth balled all their ships.

Chorus:

"We are ahead of schedule," he told the skeptic press,
Poo-pooing newsmen's arguments that things were in a mess:
"The Air Force is extremely pleased with its ill-gotten gains,
So I've placed another order for more obsolescent planes!"

Chorus:

"We don't need Brock and Landymore, nor Fleury and the rest;
They're really ignoramuses; the Minister knows best;
We will sweep away traditions and we'll dress them all alike!"
"And we'll call them Hellyer's Hellions," was the smug advice of Mike.

Chorus:

Having stepped so very nimbly from the frypan to the fire,
He has gone to do some singing with the intigrated choir,
And as the fallen martyrs watch and veterans do burn,
The telegraphs ring through the ships, "ALL ENGINES FULL ASTERN!"

Chorus:

And far above the Capital, in clear and cloudless sky,
An integrated pilot waves as Yankee planes streak by;
While on the ground a Motley crew of integrated men,
March listlessly to Parliament and march right back again.

Chorus:

Now the Air Force runs the ships at sea; the army flies the planes;
The Navy learns landlubber ways, and rides around in trains;
Morale's a word we often heard, but now it's dead and gone;
And the dopes who pay the taxes just go on, and on, and on.

Chorus:

Watch our Navy go to glory,
Watch our Army go to glory,
Watch our Air Force, same old story,
If you don't like integration you can damned well go to pot!

19 July, 1966