The last foxhole,
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
He lived by my side on an island in the sea,
A place called Okinawa, and just like me,
He was fighting in the army against imperial Japan.
Our home was a foxhole made of clay blood and sand.
The last foxhole,
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
Soon the war was over and we went our separate ways.
He went home to Brooklyn but in the army I chose to stay.
Now he often wrote me the letters and told me about his fears:
When his son became a man, would he have to live in another foxhole?
The last foxhole,
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
Then came Korea and they sent my company,
And that same Brooklyn boy right back with me,
But I left him there in a grave deep and cold.
They just covered him up in his last foxhole.
The last foxhole,
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
Well, the years went by; now here I am
In another foxhole in Vietnam,
And there's a boy from Brooklyn behind a gun.
They couldn't send his daddy so they sent his son.
The last foxhole,
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
oh, the last foxhole,
O Lord, let it be the last foxhole.
inviata da Pluck - 23/11/2024 - 10:25
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"The Last Foxhole" Written by Fred Burch & Mel Tillis
Track 4 (B-Side) from the album: "Will You Visit Me On Sundays? 1968 © Label: Capitol Records