I was under the dryer when the telegram came. Private John C. Miller was shot down in Vietnam. Through my tears I read, no more information at this time. He's missing in action somewhere on the Delta line.
And they say that I should be proud that he was fighting for me. They say that I should be proud of those two blinds I see. But he wasn't fighting for me. My Johnny didn't have to fight for me. He was fighting for the evils of society.
Now I pray night and day that my Johnny wouldn't die. Love, faith and hope.
That was all that kept me alive. Then six weeks later came that cold and heartless laugh. Private John Miller killed in action. Number 5, 4, 3, 2, 7. And they say that I should be proud. He was keeping me free. They say that I should be proud of those two blinds I see.
But he wasn't fighting for me. My Johnny didn't have to die.
And they say that I should be proud of those two blinds I see. But he wasn't fighting for me. My Johnny didn't have to fight for me. He was keeping me free. They say that I should be proud of those two blinds I see.
With medals of honor and glory. Even our local paper ran a front page story.
But the whole town came to praise him and said how honored I should be. But I don't want no silver star. Just the good man they took from me.
Yet they tell me I should be proud. He was fighting for me. They say that I should be proud of those two blinds I see.
But he wasn't fighting for me. My Johnny didn't have to die for me. He's a victim of the evil famous fireteam.

Oh oh
Should you be proud. If you're the most shining.
Oh oh
They told me that I should be proud. If I'm the strongest kind of boy.
Should you be proud. If I'm the strongest kind of boy.
Should you be proud. If I'm the strongest kind of boy.
Dborneapp. Geeta Greer.
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