This tale of woe commences
On the day we lost our senses
And we thought it would be fun to go to sea,
From now on we’d be in clover
We’d have girls the whole world over
But instead they stuck us on an LST.

In harbour it is taught us
As laid out in Captains Orders,
In a language that’s as tough as tough can be-
' Lock your doors before the Blackout,
Put milk bottles and the cat out;
No, it’s NOT the navy-You’re in LST's!'

When the gale is howling madly
And she’s rolling really badly
And the pounding's simply horrible to see,
Then you think 'Why bother to grow up
Just to stand out there and THROW up?'
Oh how you wish you’d never seen an LST.

With the engineers all paling
At both diesel engines failing
And the steering gear beyond all prayer and plea,
Then, no matter how you pad it
You can’t hide the fact you’ve HAD it,
When they picked you out to serve in LST's.

It’s a golden rule for sailors
In both battleships and whalers
That you always have sufficient depth of sea,
Going aground is really wasteful,
Not to mention quite disgraceful,
Yet we do it all the time in LST’s.

Then, forgetting all your teaching
You make a mess of beaching
And her arse is where her bows are meant to be,
You just pray that Heaven blessed you
When the Navy dispossessed you
And stuck out of sight in LST’s.

So. If you’re mad enough to join us
You’re at liberty to coin us
A motto to inspire both you and me-
Something Latin, maybe Greek,
Like ‘FOREVER UP THE CREEK!’
Which is what we are, who serve in LST’s.

Composed by Mr Les Roberts. August 1947.
Whilst serving on LST 366 in the Mediterranean.