April 15, 1943
I finished No. 19 yesterday, so there isn’t anything of note to add, but I will devote this whole epistle to a couple of things made up by Roy Cohn – a parody to “Pass the Ammunition” and a poem he wrote for George Davis’ promotion party.
PRAISE THE LORD, WE’LL SHOOT THE DIETICIAN
Praise the Lord, we’ll form a coalition
Before we all die of malnutrition.
Praise the Lord, just change the food you’re dishin’
Praise the Lord, and call the ward physician
Praise the Lord, we’re all in bad condition
Praise the Lord, we’re dying by attrition
‘Cause the chow’s a mess.
Oh the mess Major’s beat it
We oughta make him eat it.
For a sonuva, sonuva CENSORED is he.
Praise the Lord, we’ll make the frank admission,
That we’d like to get the ammunition
Then, by God, we’d shoot the dietician
And we’d all pull through.
Poem by Roy Cohn for George Davis’ Promotion Party
The 59th has wit to perceive
A rather acute contradiction
Between facts it is bound to believe
And the Army’s elegant fiction.
On Monday we place with Supply,
An order for something we’re needing.
By Tuesday the hue and the cry
Has died, (‘course the patient’s still bleeding).
On Wednesday, prepared for this chance,
We use makeshift means to sustain him.
By Thursday the Supply Officer’s advanced
to O.K.ing 9 copies (it pains him).
By Friday still the supplies aren’t appearing.
(Tomorrow’s the day for inspection.)
The patient however’s past caring,
He was chosen in St. Peter’s election.
Loads of love,
Watch for my next letter on