Talking Vietnam Pot Luck Blues
Tom Paxton

When I landed in Vietnam I hardly got to see Saigon
They shaped us up and called the roll and off we went on a long patrol
Swattin' flies, swappin' lies
Firing the odd shot here and there

The captain called a halt that night and we had chow by the pale moonlight
A lovely dinner they planned for us with a taste like a seat on a crosstown bus
Some of the veterans left theirs in the cans for the Viet Cong to find. . .
Deadlier than a land mine

Well naturally somebody told a joke and a couple of fellas began to smoke
I took a whiff as a cloud rolled by and my nose went up like an infield fly
The captain, this blonde fella from Yale, said
"What's the matter with you, baby?"

Well, I may be crazy, but I think not. I'd swear to God that I smell pot.
But who'd have pot in Vietnam? He said, "What do you think you're sittin' on?"
These funny little plants - thousands of them.
Good God Almighty... Pastures of Plenty!

We all lit up and by and by the whole platoon was flying high.
With a beautiful smile on the captain's face he smelled like midnight on St. Mark's Place.
Cleaning his weapon - Chanting the Hare Krishna.

The moment came as it comes to all when I had to answer nature's call
I was stumbling around in a beautiful haze when I met a little cat in black P.J.'s,
Rifle, ammobelt, B.F. Goodrich sandals. He looked up at me and said,
"Whatsa' matta wit-choo, baby?"

He said, "We're campin' down the pass and smelled you fellas blowin' grass,
And since by the smell you're smokin' trash I brought you a taste of a special stash
Straight from Uncle Ho's victory garden. We call it Hanoi gold."

So his squad and my squad settled down and passed some lovely stuff around.
All too soon it was time to go. The captain got on the radio. . .
"Hello, headquarters. We have met the enemy
And they have been smashed!"