Here’s to the men that wear the beret, not blue, not black, not tan, not gray.
But the maroon beret that’s on our head, like the blood the man before us shed.
May we all grow old together and never die, so we can tell stories of why we fly.
The blood the sweat the tears we give, these things we do that others may live.
We raise our glasses to our brothers who’ve passed, a toast to you this won’t be the last.
We’ll speak of you every time we meet, get drunk, tell lies, and show our feet.
– Mike Herrera