occasional musings on politics, culture and life in general from an american in exile
So what the fuck is this UKGunnin’ with this US of AIn Iraq and Iran and in AfghanistanDoes not a day go byWithout the Israeli Air ForceFail to drop it’s bombs from the sky?How many mothers to cry?How many sons have to die?How many missions left to fly over Palestine?‘Cause as a matter of factsIt’s a pact, it’s an actThese are illegal attacksSo bring the soldiers backThese are illegal attacksIt’s contracts for contactsI’m singing concrete factsSo bring the soldiers backWhat mean ya that you beat my peopleWhat mean ya that you beat my peopleAnd grind the faces of the poorSo tell me just how come were the TalibanSat burning incense in TexasRoaming round in a LexusSittin’ on six billion oil drumsDown with the Dow Jones, up on the NasdaqPushed into the war zonesIt’s a commercial crusade‘Cause all the oil men get paidAnd only so many soldiers come homeIt’s a commando crusadeA military charadeAnd only so many soldiers come homeSoldiers, soldiers come homeSoldiers come homeThrough all the blood and sweatNobody can forgetIt ain’t the size of the dog in the fightIt’s the size of the fight in the dog on the day or the nightThere’s no time to reflectOn the threat, the situation, the bark nor the biteThese are commercial crusades‘Cos all the oil men get paidThese are commando crusadesCommando tactical rapeAnd from the streets of New York and Baghdad to Tehran and Tel AvivBring forth the prophets of the LordFrom dirty bastards fillin’ pocketsWith the profits of greedThese are commercial crusadesCommando tactical raidsPlayin’ military charades to get paidAnd who got the devils?And who got the Lords?Build yourself a mountain – Drink up in the fountainSoldiers come homeSoldiers come homeSoldiers come homeSoldiers come homeWhat mean ya that you beat my peopleWhat mean ya that you beat my peopleAnd grind the faces of the poor
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