Memorial Day weekend is upon us. Enjoy your BBQ, but don’t forget to remember those who gave their lives in defense of this country.
Halfway down the trail to hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good ole time canteen,
And this eternal resting place,
Is known as Fiddlers Green.
Marching straight through to hell,
The infantry is seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shade of Cavalrymen,
Dismount at Fiddlers Green.
Though some go curving down the trail,
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell,
Ere he’s emptied his canteen,
And so, rides back to drink again.
With friends at Fiddlers Green.
And so, when man and horse goes down,
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee,
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to take your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head,
And go to Fiddlers Green.