Con Thien, The Hill of Angels, Health-care

Did you ever dig in,

                          At Con Thien?

                                                It’s where highway 1,

                                                                                   And the world both end.

It’s not just the stars,

That light up the sky.

And every night,

Is the 4^th of July.

O’er the ramparts we watch,

The rockets’ red glare,

Then sleep in muddy trenches,

In our green underwear.

And often I watched,

Till the dawn’s early light,

The barrage of anti-aircraft guns,

And a distant fire-fight.

Many soldiers have stood,

In this vacuous place,

And stared back at Satan,

Right in the fire from his face.

They call it the “Hill of Angels”.

It’s a bald spot of 500 feet.

Where all the good soldiers and

Bad explosives come to meet.

You can feel and smell the heat,

Of the “fire and brimstone”.

And there is no sin,

For which you would not atone.

Long before,

The Vietnamese would reclaim it.

Long before and long after,

Marines rename it.

It’s easy to shoot the fish.

But it’s “Our Turn in the Barrel”.

And now it rolls off the tongue,

As though it were a Christmas Carol.

Con Thien. Gio Linh.

Each was its own coffin.

And rockets from Hanoi,

Were the nails coming in.

The “Hill of Angels”,

Is a tormented host,

Where many a soldier,

Has given up the ghost.

But we’re just some bait.

To draw the other side “off-sides”.

Some of us play in the open arena,

While the other team hides.

Rockets pummeled every square inch,

And there’s not a firm place to stand,

If we’re just here for target practice,

I’ll gladly give up this land.

And I know the hell doesn’t end,

In  Con Thien or Gio Linh.

But reaches up to Hanoi,

And Ho Chi Minh.

And the North just fires,

From memory now.

And we’ve had more rockets,

Than God should allow.

But on a clear night,

I can see those northern lights,

Of anti-aircraft guns,

And distant firefights.

It rains all day.

It rockets all night.

And it’s too muddy or dusty,

To have a fight.

100 bombs,

Are with each B-52.

Imagine, if you can,

The B-52 after you.

Souls are taken,

As are bodies and minds.

Widows and orphans are made,

As the “Meatgrinder” grinds.

But these are the sights,

From the 17^th Parallel,

Where at the end of the road,

There waits a hell of a hell.

Dig in at Con Thien,

It’s our little coffin,

And the nails are coming in,

From Ho Chi Minh.

The hell doesn’t end,

In Con Thien.

And again, it’s 4^th of July,

At the world’s bitter end.

Highway 1 will bring you in.

Dong Ha, Cam Lo, C-2 are on the way.

But mine sweeps are the first “order of the day’.

These dirt roads are where evil likes to play.

And planted mines,

Have no discrimination,

Between soldiers and,

A peaceful civilization.

Off to the east is Leatherneck Square,

And no one ever ventures there,

Without giving death,

A really good stare.

It was called, “Our Turn In The Barrel”.

Before we’d ever find her.

And before us, it was called,

The proverbial “Meatgrinder”.

Con Thien. Gio Linh.

Each was its own coffin.

And rockets from Hanoi,

Were the nails coming in.

Talk a little at the radio,

While the NVA listens in.

Not much to do at the “End of the World”,

"Hill of Angels", Con Thien.

Time to change the mud,

In my magazines,

I wish we had toilet paper,

In the latrines.

Supplies might come in,

When clear skies come around.

Perhaps when the rain

And rockets die down.

But the flip side of that Muddy “Hole”,

That “Bloody Hole”, Con Thien,

Is that "Dust Bowl", that “Dust Hole”,

That “Graveyard” of bones, Con Thien.

Agent Orange has killed every green thing.

There’s not a tree to hang a swing.

Besides the scream of passing incoming,

There’s not even a bird to sing.

And the “orange dust” fills the nose,

Your boots and all your clothes.

Fill more sandbags,

As a hot breeze blows.

It was the McNamara line,

                                          the DMZ,

But it was a ride on the River Styx,

                                                         to my friends and me.

It was the 17^th Parallel

Where we called hell.

And a thousand rockets a day,

Can really ring your bell.

Young men into wars are thrust.

     Cake their faces with blood and dust.

          They’ll dig in and do what they must.

                  And later in life, “these young men”

                            were the only men they could trust.

And it’s where the road and world both end,

And young men become old men.

And it’s only them, on whom they depend.

Standing up, digging in, against hell’s wind,

Let’s smile at the cameras,

And all say cheese,

And go to your churches,

And pray on your knees.

But, we stood at the Hill of Angels”,

                                                  Or “Satan’s Derriere.”

And to my knowledge,

                                    EVERY MARINE HAD THE SAME HEALTH-CARE!

And it’s in Vietnam or the desert of IraQ,

When a soldier has to have his brother’s back,

That it’s easy to pick the fools who won’t take up the slack

They throw kids into war like kittens in a sack.

But I NEVER dug in at Con Thien,

For HMOs or insurance salesmen,

To provide the best health-care,

For only wealthier women and men.

Let “us” know,

If “you’re in or out”,

And what this “America”,

Is all about.

Because, as far as I know,

All the Leathernecks there,

From old “Saigon” to Leatherneck Square,

Every Marine got the same “health-care”.

We stood up and we dug in,

And we poked the eye of Ho Chi Minh.

And with his endless army stood chin to chin,

At the “Hill of Angels”, Con Thien.

And if it were for heath-care for all,

                                                              I’d dig in again.

But not for the “wealth-care for "y’all”,

                                                               you businessmen,

Who sell lies,

                    and hell for a living,

Live the lives of luxury,

                                       without much giving.

For "if one goes there,

                                   we all go there",

Let’s look Satan in the eye,

                                          and demand health-care.

When the bean-counting idiotic political pundits tell you that health-care is not in the budget - look those liars in the eye and tell them that -

NOT ONE OF THEIR WARS HAS BEEN IN A BUDGET!

AND IT IS THEIR WAR WE ARE FIGHTING-

THEY ARE NOT!

THEY ARE AT WAR WITH US! -

                                         WE ARE THE REAL AMERICANS IN THIS COUNTRY!

IF THEY WILL NOT COMMIT - THEY ARE TRAITORS TO AMERICANS!!

WHEN THEY WILL CENSOR TRUTH-

THAT IS TREASON!

AND THAT IS NOT AN AMERICAN VALUE.

IF THESE POLITICAL FOOLS WILL CATER TO THE RICH-

THEY ARE TRAITORS TO AMERICANS!

IF THEY CANNOT GO TO THE SAME DOCTOR-

THEY ARE TRAITORS TO AMERICA

AND GOD!

AMERICANS WILL STAND TOGETHER ON HEALTH-CARE!

ANY WHO DO NOT WISH FOR AMERICANS TO BE WELL -

GO TO THE HILL OF ANGELS!

One MAN was as good as another,

                                                        when WE stood up and WE dug in.

And- WE had the same health-care,

                                                           at the “Hill of Angels, Con Thien.

~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~Micky Dee~

BUSINESS DESTROYS THE ENVIRONMENT.

BUSINESS DESTROYS THE FOOD.

BUSINESS DESTROYS THE AIR.

BUSINESS DESTROYS THE WATER.

BUSINESS DESTROYS OUR CHILDREN AND THE CHILDREN OF THE WORLD.

IT'S TIME BUSINESS CLEANED UP.

IT'S TIME HEALTH OF AMERICANS BECOME THE PRIORTY OF BUSINESS -

IF NOT- WHAT IS BUSINESS GOOD FOR?

IF BUSINESS DOES NOT SERVE AMERICANS- GET RID OF IT!

SELFISHNESS IS NOT AMERICAN- OR IT SHOULD NOT BE.

Is there more than one way to God?

Don't hit me with your Bible!

Micky vs the Volcano- and the God of "Xs" and "Os"!

José Doroteo Arango Arámbula-Pancho Villa

Viva Zapata

Ode To Anne Moody-Civil Rights Activist

Vietnam 1968-1969 Or Was It Yesterday?

Putting Christ Back In The Schools!?

False Prophets-False Religions

Where Does Satan Dwell?

I Never Had A Muslim...

Coincidences Of The World Trade Center 9/11

America's Forefathers And True History!

Pharaoh Ramesses II And The Battle Of Kadesh-The Earlier Art Of Spin And Propaganda

"Fly this flag, and no soldier will ever fire at you."

It's easy to tell the traitors of this country America.

They will be waving the US flag.

They will be cheering for our solldiers - while they are at war.

They will have a yellow ribbon on the back of a behemoth automobile.

TRAITORS TO AMERICA AND THE FIGHTING SOLDIER!

THEY WILL NOT LIVE WITH SOLDIERS OR AMERICANS.

THEY WILL NOT EAT WITH SOLDIERS OR AMERICANS.

THEY WILL NOT GO TO THE SAME DOCTORS AS THE SOLDIER!

THEY WILL NOT GO TO THE SAME DOCTORS AS AMERICANS!

They will talk "how will we afford it?

There will not be a WAR in the budget - BUT WE WILL HAVE ONE! AND WHO WILL FIGHT THIS NEXT WAR?

NOT THE BUSINESSMAN!

NOT THE SONS OF CONGRESS!

NOT THE SONS OF LAWYERS!

THE NEXT WAR WILL BE FOUGHT BY THE POOR THAT THEY HATE!

They start a new war to murder our children.

It is population control.- for America - for the world!

it is an answer to unemployment.

It is to get resources.

IT IS NOT TO PROVIDE MEDICAL CARE FOR ALL AMERICANS!

IT IS NOT TO PROVIDE DIGNITY FOR THE HUMAN BEING!

KNOW YOUR TRAITORS!

I have NEVER BEEN SPIT ON BY A HIPPIE!

I have been spit on by the GOP.

Call me on this. I've never lived where the GOP hasn't run amok.

And if the GOP and Tea-hagglers or republicrats

                                       want "their own medical providers"

                                                      GO GET IT FROM HILL OF ANGELS!

Insurance agents? HMOs? Lawyers?

When are these people required to be real Americans?

REQUIRE THAT AMERICANS STAND UP FOR AMERICANS - ALL AMERICANS!

OTHERWISE THIS LAND OF OPPORTUNITY, THIS BEACON OF HOPE, THIS AMERICA IS JUST ANOTHER FANTASY.

REQUIRE THAT THE WORDS FROM THESE POLITICAL PARTIES ARE FOR ALL AMERICANS OR- SHUN THEM ALL!