There was a Hill in Vietnam,
They called it 4-11.After 30 days out in the bush,
To us it seemed like heaven,
Every 30 days we say it,
And in it's bunkers, we would sit,
And in it's shitters, we would shit.On that Hill called 4-11.
On the bunker line is where
The grunts pulled their time.There was always something happening.
The grunts were thinking of trip flares and wheelchairs,
Or the sappers were a sapperin.Mortars or rockets in the middle of the night
It never amounted to much of a fight.The sappers left were in the wire,
Maybe the ammo dump was still on fire,
On that Hill called 4-11.When I left, I looked back at that heavenly hill.
And waved goodbye at a guy named Bill.
As one last rocket fired with skill,
Hit that Hill called 4-11.
This poem was written by Dan Kelly who provided a copy of it to the Hill 4-11 Association in 1989.
