Hells A Poppin

HOWARD AUSTIN sings of Lincoln Ordnance
in this good, old "Pawnee Four" style:
Hellsapoppin - April 4, 1949

Did you ever hear a bomb-shell
Dropped upon a quiet street,
And it sort o' knocked you silly
Your bewilderment complete,
And you pinched yourself and uttered,
In your ears there rang a bell;
And your only sane reaction
All summed up in, "What the Hell."

When our Colonel broke the tidings
That we'd soon deactivate;
That by 31 December
Everyone would get the gate;
Why we couldn't quite believe it,
That from here we'd have to roam;
For to leave the Lincoln Ordnance
Would be just like leaving home.

Shoulders sagged and steps were dragging,
Eyes were downcast and a frown
For the message was upsetting
And it sort o' got us down.
Morale suffered, took a nose-dive.
Hard to leave the old Depot;
Groans were heard from gate to Warehouse,
Ev'rybody feelin' low.

Memories they kept recurring.
Of our work and of our fun;
Things we'd planned for now and hence forth,
Seemed our work had just begun.
Counted blessing o'er and over,
Numbered all the joys we'd had;
Then like bees who'd started swarming,
Everybody getting mad.

That was good, It stood for action;
Came suggestions, came like hail;
If on some of them we'd acted,
Everyone would be in jail.
"See the gang down at the tavern,"
"March upon the City Hall;"
"Do a lot of old Hell Raisin'"
"Ev'rybody on the ball."

"Telephone to old Scott Lucas,"
"Send a wire, damn the cost,"
"Let's parade right up to Congress,"
If we don't our cause is lost.
"Get Emil Smith and V. Y. Dallman,"
"See the preacher and the priest;"
"See 'em all, don't let 'em kid you,"
"Buttonhole both man and beast."

"Use your telephone, contact 'em,
Every man of fame or note;"
"Fan your anger, keep on sizzling,
And to Hell with Terre Haute."
Telegrams, we'd send a bushel,
And we'd hope to make our point;
For this sort of disappointment,
Left our noses out of joint.

Cash came rolling in for wires,
Everybody did his stuff;
And before we'd time for doubting,
'Twas announced we had enough,
Like electric charge, the feeling
"That there ought to be a law,"
And in supreme agitation,
Cash was checked by Defenbaugh.

Stanford hit for Western Union
With that dough clasped in his fist;
And the cash kept right on coming,
For the "Cause," 'twill ne'er be missed,
Folks, we've only started fighting,
Some may sob or others cuss;
Only now we're realizing
What our jobs have meant to us.

Now we're organized for action
On the line rearin' to go;
No holds barred and at the signal,
Hit 'em hard and hit 'em low.
No, you can't say that we're raving.
Or that our hearts are nearly broke,
But to junk the Lincoln Ordnance
Can't consider as a joke.

But with horse-sense and with team-work,
We will win a victory;
And ten years from now we'll toddle
Back and forth from L.O.D.

Howard B. Austin,
Lincoln Ordnance Depot.