There was this vet' who came to my work.
His name was Henry.

And we called him

Vietnam Henry.

I was working graveyard at a burger joint;
I could make you a tasty, mean cheeseburger.
And when flrting with the ugly cashiers
got boring,

I would go out and talk to Vietnam Henry.

Henry was an odd fellow,
all wide-eyed and jittery.
He would tell me about his black girlfriend.
True she dwarfed him by two-hundred pounds,

But she was a good piece of ass, he told me.

He was a cracked out guy
always good for a laugh.
A dirty, greasy, long-haired, bearded,
white boy: One crazy ass vet.

But he always paid for his coffee.

He told me of his love for cocaine,
I went behind the counter into the kitchen.
I put some white gravy mix into a baggie,
and brought it out back to him.

He snorted a line and,

It took him higher than a kite.
And he ran out the door screaming,
and making a ruckus in the parking lot.
Now I couldn't have him scaring away my

customers. So I made use of some M-80's

I had left over from July 4.
I lit them and threw them out at him.
He ran about 500 feet and collasped on
the pavement.

Talk about flashbacks.

And later I noticed
that someone called the police.
Because I looked out the drive-thru and saw
paramedics taking away Vietnam Henry.

And I'm happy to say Henry survived,
but there's little much else to do

Working graveyard at a burger joint.

Nice...I like that.