Hell In Texas, 1916

Here is a poem that just suited this place the first week I landed, but now I am beginning to change my mind in the opposite direction…

HELL IN TEXAS

The Devil in hell we’re told was chained,
And a thousand years he there remained.
He neither complained nor did he groan,
But determined to start a hell of his own.

Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being chained in a prison pen.
So he asked the Lord if he had on hand
Anything left when he made this land.

The Lord said, “Yes, I had plenty on hand,
But I left it down on the Rio Grande;
The fact is, “old boy,” the stuff is so poor,
I don’t think you can use it in hell any more.”

But the Devil went down to look at the truck,
And said if he took it as a gift he was stuck,
For after examining it carefully and well,
He concluded the place was too dry for a hell.

So in order to get it off His hand
The Lord promised the Devil to water the land,
For he had some water, or rather some dregs,
A regular cathartic and smelled like bad eggs.

Hence the trade was closed, the deed was given,
And the Lord went back to his home in Heaven;
The Devil said to himself, “I have all that is needed
To make a good hell,” and hence he succeeded.

He began by putting thorns all over the trees,
And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas;
He scattered tarantulas along the roads,
Put thorns on cactus, and horns on the toads.

He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
And put an addition to the rabbits’ ears;
He put a little devil in the broncho steed,
And poisoned the feet of the centipede.

The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
The mosquito delights you with his buzzing wings;
The sand-burs prevail, and so do the ants,
And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants.

The Devil then said that throughout the land
He’d arrange to keep up the Devil’s own brand,
And all should be Mavericks unless they bore
Marks or scratches, of bites and thorns by the score.

The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten,
Too hot for the Devil and too hot for men;
The wild boar roams through the black chaparral;
‘Tis a hell of a place that he has for a hell.

By the Author of “Texas A Paradise”

 

(Editor’s Note: See Postal from Camp Cotton, Texas 8/1/1916)

 

I Wonder How The Table Looks At Home, 1916

I wonder how the table looks at home

I wonder if they miss me while I roam

I wonder how it feels,

to sit down to three square meals

While we are here just starving all along
    

I can see the steaks and chickens coming in.

I can see the fried potatoes thick and thin.

I can hear my mother say

Boys what will you have today

I wonder how the table looks at home.

 

This is one of many that are sung every night before taps…

 

(Editor’s Note: See Postal while On Patrol, Texas 8/9/1916)

 

© Copyright 2008 by Richard Landers, All Rights Reserved. No reproduction without permission.

We’ll Hit The Trail For Villa, 1916

The regiment composed a song on the train which runs,

We’ll hit the trail for Villa

We’re Yankees through and through

We’ll show the sons of Mexico,

What the U.S.A. can do.

We come from Massachusetts,

Victory or die,

So give a grand old cheer boys

As the Eight goes marching by. Ra. Ra. Ra.

 

This is sung to the tune of “We’ll hit the line for Harvard.” Then the two Somerville companies follow it up with,

Soma, Soma, Somervilla

Panka, Panka, Panko Villa

Spanka, Spanka, Spanka Villa

We’ll beat him black and blue. Ra. Ra. Ra.

 

The whole battalion made a hit all the way down here with this song and I guess it is going to stick through out the regiment.

 

(Editor’s Note: See Letter from Camp Cotton, Texas 7/8/1916)

 

© Copyright 2008 by Richard Landers, All Rights Reserved. No reproduction without permission.

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