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There's strange things done 'neath the Vietnamese sun, but the one time that locked my jaws,
was the night 'neath the moon, when the 3rd Platoon, gunned down Santa Claus.

It started off right, just another night, that you had to spend in the dirt.
Security was out, 360 about, with fifty percent alert.

We had 81's, and naval guns, our tanks were track to track.
An Ontos or so, an arty FO, with barrages back to back.

I froze where I stood 'cause out of the wood, eight horses came charging along,
this may sound scary, those mustangs were hairy. "Oh no", I moaned, "mounted Viet Cong."

They were coming our way, pulling what looked like a sleigh (you never knew what they'd use),
our flares were tripped, our SIDs had flipped, and our tipsy blew a fuse.

We let them close, then we yelled, "Who goes?", like they do in the movie show,
but the answer we got, believe it or not, was a hearty, "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

Now these troops of mine have seen some time, and they've done some things back-assward,
and they may be thick but I'll tell you a trick, they knew THAT wasn't the password.

The nineties roared, the 81's soared, and the naval guns raised hell.
A bright red flare flew through the air, as we fired our FPL.

I'll grant him guts, but that man was nuts, or I'm a no good liar.
He dropped like a stone in our kill zone, and I passed the word, "Cease fire.".

I went out and took a real good look, my memory started to race,
my mind plays games when It comes to names, but I never forget a face.

He was dressed all in red, and he looked well fed, older than most I'd seen,
he looked right weird with that long white beard, and stumps where his legs had been.

He hadn't quite died when I reached his side, but the end was clearly in sight,
II knelt down low and he said real slow, "Merry Christmas... and to all... a good night."

Now we should have known our cools were blown, when that light in the East we seen
I thought it was flares and it had to be theirs or the damned things would have been green,,

I picked up the hook with a voice that shook, and said, "Gimme the 'Six', and quick!"
"Colonel.", I said, "Hang on to your head, we just greased old St. Nick".

Now the Old Man's cool, he's nobody's fool, right off he knew the word.
If this got out, there'd be no doubt, he wouldn't be making his bird.

"Just get him up here, and we'll play it by ear, make sure he's got a tag,
dismantle the sleigh, drive those reindeer away, and bury that goddamm bag".

Now by and by the kiddies may cry, 'cause nothing's under the tree,
but the word came back from FMFPAC, that Santa had gone VC.

There's strange things done 'neath the Vietnamese sun, but the one time that locked my jaws,
was the night 'neath the moon, when the 3rd Platoon, gunned down Santa Claus.