Napalm Sticks to Kids

Below is a poem/military chant that is a composite of one that appears in an issue of a comic book called Slow Death (#4, 1972) and one I found at the Digital Tradition Folk Music Database.

The poem/chant is preceded in Slow Death by the following:

Thanks very much for all the letters, no room for a do loop letter page or a Slow Death Quiz this time. The cartoon was sent to us by Eric Kimball. The poem was the work of a group of AF and Army GIs assigned to the First Air Cav who sat down one night in a hootch in Nam and wrote a poem. It expressed their bitterness about the things they had done and toward the military that had made them murderers. The poem was first published in the June 71 issue of helping hand; POB 729, Mountain Home, Idaho 83647. Each verse depicts an actual event that at least one of the men participated in.

Other correspondents called for emergency preparedness based on the “bug out system” that SAC base personnel and families use; while one woman from New York suggested that to defuse the population bomb “we should swallow a load so the population won’t explode.” Keep them cards and letters coming folks; we will print some in the next Slow Death. Back issues of Slow Death available for 65 cents each. Include age statement with each order. Dealer McDope games $7.95 postpaid. Send to Baba Ron Turner, Editor, Slow Death Funnies, PO Box 212, Berkeley, Ca 94704.


* * *

Napalm Sticks to Kids

We shoot the sick, the young, the lame,
We do our best to maim,
Because the kills all count the same,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chorus: Napalm sticks to kids,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Flying low across the trees,
Pilots doing what they please,
Dropping frags on refugees,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Flying low and looking mean,
See that family by the stream,
Drop some nape an hear ’em scream,
Napalm sticks to kids.

A group of gooks in the grass,
But all the fighting’s long since past,
Crispy youngsters in a mass,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Goods in the open, making hay,
But I can hear the gunships say,
“There’ll be no Chieu Hoi today,”
Napalm sticks to kids.

See those farmers over there,
Watch me get them with a pair,
Blood and guts just everywhere,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I’ve only seen it happen twice,
But both times it was mighty nice,
Shooting peasants planting rice,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Napalm, son, is lots of fun,
Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun,
It gets the gooks when on the run,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Drop some napalm on a farm [or, “barn”],
It won’t do them any harm,
Just burn off their legs and arms,
Napalm sticks to kids.

CIA with guns for hire,
Montagnards around a fire,
Napalm makes the fire go higher,
Napalm sticks to kids.

A baby sucking on his mother’s tit
Children cowering in a pit,
Dow chemical doesn’t give a shit,
Napalm sticks to kids.We shoot the sick, the young, the lame,
We do our best to maim,
Because the kills all count the same,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chorus: Napalm sticks to kids,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Flying low across the trees,
Pilots doing what they please,
Dropping frags on refugees,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Goods in the open, making hay,
But I can hear the gunships say,
“There’ll be no Chieu Hoi today,”
Napalm sticks to kids.

See those farmers over there,
Watch me get them with a pair,
Blood and guts just everywhere,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I’ve only seen it happen twice,
But both times it was mighty nice,
Shooting peasants planting rice,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Napalm, son, is lots of fun,
Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun,
It gets the gooks when on the run,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Drop some napalm on a farm,
It won’t do them any harm,
Just burn off their legs and arms,
Napalm sticks to kids.

CIA with guns for hire,
Montagnards around a fire,
Napalm makes the fire go higher,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I’ve been told it’s not so neat,
To catch gooks burning in the street,
But burning flesh, it smells to sweet,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Children sucking on a mother’s tit,
Wounded gooks down in a pit,
Dow Chemical doesn’t give a shit,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Bombadiers don’t care a bit,
Just as long as the pieces fit,
When you stuff the bodies in a pit,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Eighteen kids in a No Fire Zone,
Rooks under arms and going home,
Last in line goes home alone,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chuck in a sampan, sitting in the stern,
They don’t think their boats will burn,
Those damn gooks will never learn,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Cobras flying in the sun,
Killing gooks is lots of fun,
Get one pregnant and it’s two for one,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Shoot civilians where they sit,
Take some pictures as you split,
All your life you’ll remember it,
Napalm sticks to kids.

NVA are all hard core,
Flechettes never are a bore,
Throw those PSYOPS out the door,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Gather kids as you fly over town,
By throwing candy on the ground,
Then grease ’em when they gather ’round,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I’ve been told it’s not so neat,
To catch gooks burning in the street,
But burning flesh, it smells to sweet,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Children sucking on a mother’s tit,
Wounded gooks down in a pit,
Dow Chemical doesn’t give a shit,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Bombadiers don’t care a bit,
Just as long as the pieces fit,
When you stuff the bodies in a pit,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Eighteen kids in a No Fire Zone,
Rooks under arms and going home,
Last in line goes home alone,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chuck in a sampan, sitting in the stern,
They don’t think their boats will burn,
Those damn gooks will never learn,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Cobras flying in the sun,
Killing gooks is lots of [or, “macho”] fun,
Get one [or, “If one’s”] pregnant (and) it’s two for one,
Napalm sticks to kids.

There’s a gook down on her knees
Launch some fleshettes into the breeze,
Her arms are nailed to the trees,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Blues out on a road recon,
See some children with their mom,
What the hell, let’s drop the bomb,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Shoot civilians where they sit,
Take some pictures as you split,
All your life you’ll remember it,
Napalm sticks to kids.

NVA are all hard core,
Flechettes never are a bore,
Throw those PSYOPS out the door,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Gather kids as you fly over town,
By throwing candy on the ground,
Then grease ’em when they gather ’round,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Ox cart rolling down the road,
Peasants with a heavy load,
They’re all V!C! when the bombs explode,
Napalm sticks to kids.

They’re in good shape for the shape they’re in,
But I wonder how they win,
With napalm running down their skin,
Napalm sticks to kids.


* * *

The Digital Tradition Folk Music Database concludes with the following explanation:

“Frags”=fragmentation bombs. “Flechettes” are bits of tiny anti-personnel shrapnel sometimes coated with a strong blood de-coagulant.
“PSYOPS” is Army-ese for psychological operations, which, coupled with the references to the CIA, Montagnards, and gunships, makes me think this song came out of the “spook” community. PW
See also Strafe the Town and Kill the People. It was an unpopular war with many of the participants, too. RG

PW
apr96

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