by Jim Van Hoveln
Point, slack, sometimes drag,
thumper, rifle, 60 And frag.
These all terms of the infantry grunt,
24-7 for Charlie they hunt.
Highlands, flats, jungles of green,
Charlie is there but seldom seen.
A burst of fire, an RPG,
never a warning of what could be.
One wrong step, will determine your fate,
in the wink of an eye, it's too late.
A booby trap set and left behind,
wreaks havoc on body, soul and mind.
The NVA, will strike in force,
the Infantry grunt will stay the course.
With arty's help and air support,
one by one the choppers report.
The miniguns groan, the rockets ignite,
from the grunts field of view it's an awesome sight.
the Cobra so trim, the sharks teeth of white,
for the Infantry grunt, it will be a long night.
Tonight you will earn it, wear it with pride,
for you and a Brother fought side by side.
from the Central Highlands, to the South China sea,
you earned it my Brother - the C.I.B.
Now wear it with pride, upon your chest,
the rifle and wreath above the rest.
but one way to earn it, we know so well,
you had to enter the gates of hell.
You witnessed your Brothers, who bought the farm,
the pain, the screams, a severed arm.
The slick above, with the cross of red,
comes for the wounded, then the dead.
The dustoff ascends into the sky,
you whisper your Brother a final good-bye.
now bow your head and take a knee,
this is the price of the C.I.B.
Combat assault or a firefight,
a flare from Spooky to light up the night.
a claymore blast, from a clacker depressed,
the 81 mike mike will finish the rest.
Grunts fought in the jungle and paddies of rice,
in village and hamlet, so take my advice.
don't taunt or tease or disrespect,
for a Brothers honor, they will protect.
To wear this badge, you've passed the test,
the bonds you built, were with the best.
Ours my Brother, with C 4/3
our coat of arms----THE C.I.B.