by Marvin "Swashplate" Camp
By Swashplate

While living close quarters with a bunch of crewchiefs,
We had no problems really, except for BO and poncho liner thieves.
But, sometimes the unthinkable happens and a spat does start,
Over really nothing, snoring, joking, reading ones letters, or even a fart.

Tired and sore from snaking around my ship,
I walked in to the hootch, only to get some unwarranted lip.
It seems a CE wanted some help, and wasn't given the word,
I would be busy all day working on my hangered bird.

A few quips and verbal jabs lead to a one-upmanship battle,
Picture two CEs jousting with verbal bullets, Our cages were in rattle.
Just before fists started to fly, The threat of leaving the hootch pops out,
Two headstrong asshole fighting, No brains for added clout.

I pack my stuff up, and left the hootch for a Conex Container near the hanger,
I was about to make a big mistake, because of my anger.
You see, Conex Containers are metal and they get HOT,
Moving in was easy, but getting comfortable was not.

My pride was wounded and had to heal,
Nothing was more lousy than they way I made my self feel.
I missed my bunk, Hand built of course,
But I missed the other, for that I had remorse.

After two days away, I knew THEY had learned their lesson,
Not to hurt me feelings, They don't know for whom they were a'messin.
I quickly packed and swaggerd up to the door,
My bunk was there empty, with a note tacked on it, That Dirty Whore!

The note read,'' This is Swash's bunk, keep your ass off!", Imagine that,

I replaced everything to its rightful spot, and wiped my sweat with my hat.
The CEs came in, and I thanked them for saving my bunk,
"Fuck You, Cock Sucker! Need any help with your junk?