Now this is the story of six hundred men,
Volunteers every one;
We pledged our lives and honed our knives,
The men of the Five Five One.
Six hundred strong we trained and drilled;
Our leader was Woody Joerg.
He was tough as a tree and fair as can be;
And hard as a tempered sword.
Our Colonel gave us lot's of pride;
Made us feel good down inside.
He made us soldiers - made us men;
God, how he loved us, even then!
Came the day our souls were tried;
Many, many men had died.
Plenty snow and frozen feet--
Lots of fighting and nothing to eat.
Everywhere the noise of battle,
Mortar blast and Schemisser rattle;
But if you stopped and turned to stare,
You'd see our Colonel standing there.
That's how they got him -- how he died,
Along with all the rest who tired,
He stood there watching, tears in his eyes,
As they fell row on row, those wonderful guys.
Our Colonel stood there, straight and tall,
As thick the eighty-eights did fall;
He never flinched or moved aside,
Until at last his round arrived.
And that's how it was with the Five Five One;
There's only a few left to go;
But we'll keep singing until there's none,
For our buddies who died in the snow.
So here's to our comrades, buried far and near!
And here's to our Colonel, who loved us all so dear!
And here's to you. Buddy-- and you -- and you!
And here's to all of us, and when it's over and it's through!
From The Left Corner of My Heart by Dan Morgan.