"Joe" Forty-three

I’ve had my aspirations
And wanted so to be
The driver of a fire truck
Or sailor out to sea
One honor I could never
Believe would come to me
Is I could join the brotherhood
To be “Joe” forty-three

It's quite a pity party
We all deny we're there
If we should see a “Dear John”
Our nose goes in the air
For they were dropped completely
A letter said goodbye
While we hold by the smallest string
Until the day we die

She gives us the impression
We are so special that
If we should play the doormat
We might get tit for tat
If we point out the others
She will deny they’re there
“It’s only you.” She will decry
While three more stroke her hair

Some moths will pass and we think
“She must be busy” and
We twiddle thumbs and whistle
While taking things in hand
Then when she shows up later
Do us “Joes” make a stand?
We drop upon our knees to serve
At her cue or command

She really gives us nothing
But hope that we could be
In something so respectable
As abject slavery
So, put it on my tombstone
For everyone to see
“Ain’t no ‘Dear John’ here boys,
It's just “Joe” forty-three