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Convoy Rolling
4 April 1944
Along a winding city street The dusty convoys roll, Across the downs a laden fleet Is roaring to its goal; We’re hauling bombs that will defeat The Hun; we take our toll.
The boys who roll bomb laden trucks Through blinding English fog Or claw their way in six wheel drive Across the Burma bog With nothing for protection From the strafing bombers’ dive Are just as much our heroes As the boys who lead the drive.
Have we ever tasted battle? Do we lose our share of men? Our dead line Stuka Valley On the road to Kasserine!
Do we stop for mud or mountain? Do we need the Engineers? We build our road and flat-top Where there are no Hairy Ears!
What if the map is hopeless And the fog as grey as slate? We roll those trucks on schedule For the Bomber Boys can’t wait!
It takes more than being reckless, It takes more than gift of gab, When there’s five tons of explosive Riding right behind the cab
And that box of fuses sitting Right beside you on the seat; But “Operations” doesn’t give Its medals to this fleet!
So we do our job in silence Giving service to the line, We roll by day, we roll by night, We roll come rain or shine
And when the road’s a target? Rack’er back and let’er buck! Through hell and high explosive Rolls the Quartermaster Truck!
Then when we’re through to “Bomber” We can stop and take a rest, Behind the wheel as like as not— May “Operations” be unblessed!
And we dream of trucker’s heaven Where the wheeling convoys roll On paving blocks of marble, Where there is no mud or toll
Where the Jerry planes are never And the highway’s broad and straight, Just dynamite that throttle And we’ll highball through the gate!
Till we wake to hit the trailway And shuttle back for more, Ours is a job that’s never done; Until the war is o’er We’re in there rolling with the punch— The Quartermaster Corps!
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