David R. “Poppa” Alexander


We were in a bar that night
Hoping there wouldn’t be a fight;
Having a beer with some friends,
Ones that would do to ride the river with clear to the end.

When a loud mouth at the bar,
Starting telling about how he had fought in the war.
He started off with a couple of beers,
When all the young guys around were all ears.

He told a woeful tale,
How he almost went to jail.
Not in Vietnam you see,
Just celebrating because he was gonna cross the sea.

His exploits were wild and free,
My friends just looked at me.
This guy had been in every battle that was ever fought;
Plain to see he had read but never fought.

We just listened to this loud mouth brag,
How he had killed so many and watched his tongue wag.
He said he had been in Vietnam for four straight years,
While he downed a couple more beers.

He was at Hue, at Saigon, Kontum, and Qui Nhon
This guy had fought in every battle and single handed he had won.
His stories were based on truth, but not fought by men like you and me,
‘Cause all my friends knew he was a “wannabe”

“Were you scared?” someone asked.
“Me scared, surely you jest.
There was nothing to be scared of just to hunt,
Nothing to those little sawed off runts.”

We got up and left because we knew,
He was a wannabe thru and thru.
So if you meet some of his kind,
Brother, just walk off and leave him behind.

He’s not worth the sweat off of your proud brow.
He fights a war that we all know he never knew how.
His exploits are told to those not like us,
There are a lot of “wannabe’s” out there
… and all they know how to do, is drink and cuss.