When in doubt, just re-deploy.
Don’t bring’em home, don’t shout for joy.
Once they’re in, they’re always in.
Support our troops—until they win.
Forget the homefront hullabaloo.
The weak-kneed Left and all their crew.
For Feith and Perle and Wolfowitz
We’ll carry on our Nazi blitz.
And if they stumble, if they fall,
We’ll move’em back against the wall.
We’ll keep it up till they’ve shot their wad—
For the home team, apple pie and God.
We won’t look back, or re-consider.
(The fruits of winning can be bitter.)
What if we wash the world in gore?
Where that came from—there’s plenty more.
Forget the whining politicians.
Forget the General-tacticians.
It’s root, root, root for the home team now.
(Whatever happened to Colin Powell?)
Forget the college bullshit sessions.
Forget the mass-destruction weapons.
Our SUV’s require oil.
We’ll kill for it on foreign soil.
Their land? Westmoreland! Who gives a “heil”?
Bush or Cheney—equally vile.
It doesn’t matter once we’re in it.
The only matter is how we win it.
Get with the program—just do your job.
If your leg’s blown off, don’t even sob.
If your cock or tits are shattered in vain—
Be a good soldier; don’t complain.
If you’re haunted by children’s faces dead,
We’ve got pills to help you go to bed.
We’ve got therapists to talk you through.
We’ve got medals and ribbons and lots of goo.
Don’t ask questions—it’s too hard to crack.
Trust the officers have got your back.
They know what you want, they know what you need.
It really hurts them when you bleed.
It hurts their chances to advance.
They’re fighting this war with the seat of their pants.
A cake-walk war, where the cake fell in.
An upside-down cake and we can’t win.
But don’t let it out, don’t murmur a word.
Keep a stiff upper lip—and all that turd.
We’ll sew your lips shut if you utter a peep.
Hands off the Prez, hands off the Veep!
What do you call a permanent surge?
What do you call a killing urge?
We’re serial killers—but God’s on our side.
Like it or not, you’re along for the ride.
Your future is mortgaged, we’re about to foreclose.
You’re out on the street, and nobody knows
The trouble you’ve seen, and nobody cares—
A million Chinese are selling you wares.
Put up or shut up. And if you put up,
Don’t be surprised if we shut you up.
You can holler and scream, you can march, you can vote.
It looks good on T.V.—just don’t rock our boat.
You’re a number, you’re an ant. The State has owned you
Since before you were born. You are not you,
Except as we tell you you are you. You
Do not really exist. You are a figment of you.