You've heard of the air force and the paratroops,

You've heard of the army and the other groups,

But think as hard as you can,

Have you heard of the Amphibious Man ?


The amphibious gob is a real rugged sort,

But unlike the fleet, he has no home port;

Goes where he is needed) does what he can,

This poor orphan sailor, the amphibious man.


You might be a battleship sailor, from a cruiser or off a tin can,

Maybe fresh out of boot training, or perhaps a second cruise man.

They pick the men at random, how else could they provide,

A few might choose the duty, but they mostly are shanghaied.


You've heard plenty of the navy, of ship both fore and aft,

But we'll bet you a pretty penny you've heard least of the landing craft,

They've built a few already and they're building plenty more,

For they've got to have the LST to win this blasted war.


They come in with the transports in the middle of the night,

Sail around to rendezvous, can't even show a light;

Find their way in darkness, and land upon the shore,

Through bombs, discharging their cargo, they go back out for more.


Bringing in the first wave doesn't end the job,

For the troops upon the beach can't live without this gob.

He brings in reinforcements and everything they use,

His job is full of danger but he never makes the news.


For when the beach is taken and the radio starts to tell,

You'll hear of marines and soldiers and how they went through hell,

You'll thrill to front page stories and of their heroic job,

But you'll never hear a word of the poor amphibious gob.


And when this war is over and he's back in civil life,

How in hell will be explain to his kids and to his wife ?

They know he's in the navy, but he's the subject of a gyp,

He's just an orphan sailor—-A gob without a ship.