[Intro — clean guitar, cold wind] Twenty degrees. Wind chill: fuck that. Two Marines. One fighting hole. This is purely professional. [Band kicks in] [Verse 1] Snow was falling sideways, Frozen mud beneath our feet, Standing watch at zero-dark Trying not to fucking freeze. Gloves were wet, our boots were soaked, Couldn't feel our fingers anymore, My buddy looked across the hole, Said, “We've gotta share some warmth.” I said, “Marine, let's make this clear, This is survival, nothing more.” He said, “Shut the fuck up and get over here.” So I locked the fighting hole door. There wasn't one. But spiritually, there was. [Pre-Chorus] No shame when the temperature drops, No questions when you're freezing your soul, Body heat is tactical— AND WE'RE TACTICAL AS FUCK IN THIS HOLE! [Chorus] BODY HEAT IS TACTICAL! That's what we've been told! Two Marines surviving In a muddy fucking hole! It ain't gay, We're just fighting off the cold! So cuddle up, buttercup— WE BOTH WANNA MAKE IT HOME! No questions asked, No stories told— WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE STAYS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE! [Verse 2] Kevlar was my pillow, His shoulder was my bed, Somewhere 'round oh-two-thirty His arm slipped 'round my chest. I whispered, “Hey, we're spooning.” He said, “Negative, Marine. This is heat redistribution.” Most tactical shit I've ever seen. His mustache brushed against my neck. I said, “What the fuck was that?” “Maintain noise discipline.” “Roger.” Can't argue with that. Then his knee slid between my legs, I said, “Bro, that's getting bold.” He said, “Would the Marine rather lose a nut?” ... “Carry on. It's fucking cold.” [Chorus] BODY HEAT IS TACTICAL! That's what we've been told! Two Marines surviving In a muddy fucking hole! It ain't gay, We're just fighting off the cold! So cuddle up, buttercup— WE BOTH WANNA MAKE IT HOME! No questions asked, No stories told— WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE STAYS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE! [Verse 3] Around oh-four the wind got worse, So closer still we drew, His face was buried in my neck— TACTICAL POSITION TWO. “Your hand is underneath my blouse.” “That's where the warmth collects.” “Pretty sure that's not in the manual.” “YOU WANNA FREEZE OR FUCKING CHECK?” Fair enough. I pulled him close. Our legs became entwined. If Chesty could've seen us there— HE'D SAY WE'RE DOING FINE. Probably. Maybe. Let's not involve Chesty. [Bridge — overly sincere punk ballad] When winter winds are howling, And frost is closing in, You'll learn a brother's body heat Can save another's skin. No candles. No roses. No sweet romantic stroll. Just two grown men beneath a poncho— TRYING NOT TO FUCKING FREEZE INSIDE A HOLE! [Band explodes] [Breakdown — call and response] IS THIS ROMANTIC? HELL NO! ARE WE SPOONING? TACTICALLY! WHY'S HIS LEG BETWEEN YOURS? BODY HEAT! WHY ARE YOU THE LITTLE SPOON? ... TACTICAL NECESSITY! [Verse 4] Sun came up around oh-six, The snow had finally slowed, That's when Sergeant came around Inspecting every hole. He stopped above our position. We were tangled head to toe. One sleeping bag. Two Marines. There was nowhere else to go. He stared at us. We stared at him. Nobody made a sound. Then Sergeant slowly nodded once And calmly looked around. “Cold night, Marines?” “EYE, SARGE.” He smiled like an old, wise soul. “Carry on.” And right then we knew— SARGE'S BEEN COLD BEFORE. [Final Chorus] BODY HEAT IS TACTICAL! Every Marine knows! When the temperature starts dropping, That's when brotherhood gets close! It ain't gay, We're just fighting off the cold! Grab your buddy, pull him closer— DON'T LET THE FUCKING COLD TAKE HOLD! No pictures taken! No stories told! WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE STAYS IN THE FIGHTING HOLE! Stay warm! STAY TACTICAL! Spoon left! STAY TACTICAL! Spoon right! STAY TACTICAL! Little spoon! TACTICAL! Big spoon! TACTICAL! SEMPER FI AND SHARE THE HEAT— WE'RE FUCKING FREEZING IN THIS HOLE! [Outro — clean guitar, wind] Years later, somebody asked me: “So... did anything happen in that fighting hole?” No. Absolutely not. Nothing happened. ... And that's all the Marine needs to know.
