She’s called the “Mighty Swanson”

This ship of paper steel.

Her guns have killed aplenty

At sea and in the field.

Her actions have been many

All theaters of war.

Have had the plesure of her

Dealing her fateful score.

The landings of Africa,

And raids at old Bizerte

At Sicily we almost made

The bottom of her new berth.

At Malta in the dark days,

When Italy ruled the air,

We took terrific poundings,

And yet we lay in there.

The convoys that we fathered,

Across the raging sea,

Began before the war did,

On up ‘till “forty three”.

Our duties then were many.

We always did our best.

Of course, we had some good times

When we went in for rest.

Then came a day when again

Beckoned, we had to go

Out to the wide pacific

To scrap with Tokyo.

Our office hours were early.

We worked, at times, so late

We had to keep “her” outside,

Because they’d closed the gate.

Admiralties , Hollandia,

Biak and Noemfoor,

Peleliu and Philippines,

The beach of Sansapor.

Those we desperately covered.

with mad protecting heat.

From our smoking 5 inch guns,

Our loved infantry’s feet.

Our times at bat were many,

Our outs were very few.

All of these we had to have.

No, nothing else would do.

We made raids on Iwo

And then we hit Samar.

We steamed to Okinawa.

Luzon, we gave a jar.

We’ve been with the carriers,

In racing for life.

The best of Tojo’s airmen

Have felt our pressing strike.

Yes, a mighty ship she is sir,

“Tin Can”, Queen of Greyhounds.

But she’s getting full of knocks,

And makes funny sounds.

Her crew’s a little weary.

Her steel’s a little worn

Although she looks a million,

Her flag is ripped and torn.

The war’s not half way over.

It’s really just begun.

With thirty days Stateside leave

We ‘d sink the rising sun.