Line troops vs elite soldiers

I have in my head a series of SciFi stories about a bunch of ragtag soldiers set in the far future. They're certainly not the flashiest unit around, but -- as "line doggies" -- they get some of the worst assignments, and yet always manage to come through. I wrote this ballad to act as a sort of transitional tool from one chapter to the next.

The Ballad of the Troops of the Line
by William Breyfogle

OVERTURE:
We're the sleepy eyed devils in armor and brass.
The point of the spear is our sign.
We're the reaper, the grinder, the sword and the scythe
and they call us the Troops of the Line.

CHORUS:
Troops of the Line, Troops of the line,
We're your husbands, your sons and your daughters.
Our business is killing and business is good,
Troops of the line: To the slaughter!

VERSE:
We're a bolt out of nowhere; we're death in the dark.
We're the story you don't live to tell.
We're the nightmares and horrors that lurk in your dreams
we're a reveille call straight from hell.
We're as grim as the gallows, and harder to stop.
We're the shivers that role up your spine,
We're a wildfire; a warcry. We're a wind, we're a wall ...
and we're coming; the Troops of the Line.

CHORUS:
Troops of the Line, Troops of the line,
We're your husbands, your sons and your daughters.
Our business is killing and business is good,
Troops of the line: To the slaughter!

VERSE:
As we shoot through your lines and we roll up your flanks
and hasten your troops to their fate,
it's the cold hack and thrust. Nothing personal, Friend,
'cause only the amateurs hate.
When the grim business is done, and recall is sounded,
we pick up our dead and our dying.
Then it's rest and refit, then stand to your guns,
'cause we're on again; Troops of the Line.

CHORUS:
Troops of the Line, Troops of the Line,
We're your husbands, your sons and your daughters.
Our business is killing and business is good,
Troops of the line: To the slaughter!

VERSE:
Our voice is the main guns, the rocket's loud roar.
We're the scream of an oncoming jet.
We're the whine of the turbines, the clatter of treads
We're the thrust of the cold bayonet.
Now, there's flyboys and tankers, there's sailors and spooks.
and all of those outfits are fine
There's Marines and sky troopers, there's techs and there's cooks;
and then there's the Troops of the Line.

CHORUS:
Troops of the Line, Troops of the line,
We're your husbands, your sons and your daughters.
Our business is killing and business is good,
Troops of the Line: To the slaughter!

VERSE:
We've slogged through the muck of a hundred-odd fields,
and died on a hundred-odd more
and we'll go right on killing for that odd thing called peace
we're the sons and the daughters of war.
Now, other divisions get glory and such
their banners all glitter and shine.
But when they want a battalion to battle through hell,
they call for the Troops of the Line.

CHORUS:
Oh, Troops of the Line, Troops of the Line,
We're your husbands, your sons and your daughters.
Our business is killing and business is good,
Troops of the line: To the slaughter!

CODA:
And at the last muster, when they lay you to rest,
and you sleep in a box made of pine,
You can tell old St. Peter you served with the best,
tell him, "I was a Troop of the Line."