So Long, Mom (A Song for World War III)
Tom Lehrer
I feel that if any songs are going to come out of World War III we'd better start writing them now. I have one here. You might call it a bit of pre-nostalgia. This is the song that some of the boys sang as they went bravely of to World War III.
So long, Mom,
I'm off to drop the bomb,
So don't wait up for me.
But while you swelter
Down there in your shelter,
You can see me
On your TV.
While we're attacking frontally,
Watch Brinkally and Huntally,
Describing contrapuntally
The cities we have lost.
No need for you to miss a minute
Of the agonizing holocaust. (Yeah!)
Little Johnny Jones he was a U.S. pilot,
And no shrinking vi'let was he.
He was mighty proud when World War Three was declared,
He wasn't scared,
No siree!
And this is what he said on
His way to Armageddon:
So long, Mom,
I'm off to drop the bomb,
So don't wait up for me.
But though I may roam,
I'll come back to my home,
Although it may be
A pile of debris.
Remember, Mommy,
I'm off to get a commie,
So send me a salami,
And try to smile somehow.
I'll look for you when the war is over,
An hour and a half from now!
Thanks Seal. Lehrer was an important part of my youth. His records were strewn all over our house.
Home
Roger Waters
Jim: Oh, God!
Californian Weirdo: Sole has no eyes.
Could be Jerusalem, or it could be Cairo
Could be Berlin, or it could be Prague
Could be Moscow, could be New York
Could be Llanelli, and it could be Warrington
Could be Warsaw, and it could be Moose Jaw
Could be Rome
Everybody got somewhere they call home
When they overrun the defences
A minor invasion put down to expenses
Will you go down to the airport lounge
Will you accept your second class status
A nation of waitresses and waiters
Will you mix their martinis
Will you stand still for it
Or will you take to the hills
It could be clay and it could be sand
Could be desert
Could be a tract of arable land
Could be a house, could be a corner shop
Could be a cabin by a bend in the river
Could be something your old man handed down
Could be something you built on your own
Everybody got something he calls home
When the cowboys and Arabs draw down
On each other at noon
In the cool dusty air of the city boardroom
Will you stand by a passive spectator
Of the market dictators
Will you discreetly withdraw
With your ear pressed to the boardroom door
Will you hear when the lion within you roars
Will you take to the hills
Will you stand, will you stand for it
Will you hear, ohhhh! ohhh! when the lion within
you roars
Could be your father and it could be your mother
Could be your sister, could be your brother
Could be a foreigner, could be a Turk
Could be a cyclist out looking for work. Norman
Could be a king, could be the Aga khan
Could be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legs
Could be a saint, could be a sinner
Could be a loser or it could be a winner
Could be a banker, could be a baker
Could be a Laker, could be Kareem Abdul Jabar
Could be a male voice choir
Could be a lover, could be a fighter
Could be a super heavyweight, or it could be
something lighter
Could be a cripple, could be a freak
Could be a wop, gook, geek
Could be a cop, could be a thief
Could be a family of ten living in one room on relief
Could be our leaders in their concrete tombs
With their tinned food and their silver spoons
Could be the pilot with God on his side
Could be the kid in the middle of the bomb sight
Could be a fanatic, could be a terrorist
Could be a dentist, could be a psychiatrist
Could be humble, could be proud
Could be a face in the crowd
Could be the soldier in the white cravat
Who turns the key in spite of the fact
That this is the end of the cat and mouse
Who dwelt in the house
Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt
The house that Jack built
Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt
The house that Jack built
Bang, bang, shoot, shoot
White gloved thumb, Lord thy will be done
He was always a good boy his mother said
He'll do his duty when he's grown, yeah
Everybody's got someone they call home
If You Want to Be President
by The Fugs
If you want to be President
A very long while
Be sure you invade
A very small isle
For if it is tiny
And it's soldiers are few
They'll never make
A fool out of you
You may kill with impunity
Kill for a lark
If the color of your victims
Is rather dark
And all of the Americans
Will love you too
If the total dead Americans
Is rather few
But when the numbers mount up
As they did in Vietnam
Then you could be
In a big political jam
So invade a tiny island
Where the soldiers are naive
And leave Nicaragua
To the mercenaries
And always kill people
For their own good
Ban meetings, censor papers
For Libertyhood
Postpone the elections
That you said you sought
For what if the results
Are not what they ought?
Protect all Americans
Kill a lesser breed
It's the black man's burden
It's your blood lust that you feed
Old soldiers never die
They only kill
And movie stars with general's bars
They fill the corporate till
Someone else's suffering
It's int'resting to see
You can watch it every night
On CBS or NBC
Though we can only have
One nuclear war
Well 1,2,3 Vietnams
We can have even more
So if you want to stay President
A very long while
Be sure you invade
A tiny tiny isle
For if it's small enough
And it's soldiers very few
It can never make
A fool out of you...
(I think)
Shut Out the Light"
by Bruce Springsteen
The runway rushed up at him as he felt the wheels touch down
He stood out on the blacktop and took a taxi into town
He got out down on Main Street and went into a local bar
He bought a drink and found a seat in a corner in the dark
Well she called up her mama to make sure the kids were out of the house
She checked herself out in the dining room mirror
And undid an extra button on her blouse
He felt her lying next to him, the clock said 4:00 am
He was staring at the ceiling
He couldn't move his hands
CHORUS
Oh mama mama mama come quick
I've got the shakes and I'm gonna be sick
Throw your arms around me in the cold dark night
Hey now mama don't shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Well on his porch they stretched a banner that said "Johnny Welcome Home"
Bobby pulled his Ford out of the garage and they polished up the chrome
His mama said "Johnny oh Johnny, I'm so glad to have you back with me"
His pa said he was sure they'd give him his job back down at the factory
CHORUS
Well deep in a dark forest, a forest filled with rain
Beyond a stretch of Maryland pines there's a river without a name
In the cold black water Johnson Lineir stands
He stares across the lights of the city and dreams of where he's been
Bravado
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
If we burn our wings
Flying too close to the sun
If the moment of glory
Is over before it's begun
If the dream is won --
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price,
But we will not count the cost
When the dust has cleared
And victory denied
A summit too lofty
River a little too wide
If we keep our pride --
Though paradise is lost
We will pay the price,
But we will not count the cost
And if the music stops
There's only the sound of the rain
All the hope and glory
All the sacrifice in vain
[and] if love remains
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price,
But we will not count the cost
get your filthy hands off my desert
brezhnev took afghanistan
begin took beirut
galtieri took the union jack
and maggie over lunch one day
took a cruiser will all hands
apparently to make him give it back
southampton dock
they disembarked in 45
and no one spoke and no one smiled
there were too many spaces in the line
gathered at the cenotaph
all agreed with the hand on heart
to sheath the sacrificial knifes
but now
she stands upon southampton dock
with her handkerchief
and her summer frock clings
to her wet body in the rain
in quiet desparation knuckles
white upon the slippery reigns
she bravely waves the boys goodbye again
and still the dark stain spreads between
his shoulder blads
a mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves
and when the fight was over
we spent what they had made
but in the bottom of our hearts
we felt the final cut
Draft Dodger Rag - Phil Ochs
I'm just a typical American boy from a typical American town
I believe in God and Senator Dodd and keeping old Castro down
And when it came my time to serve I knew better dead than red
But when I got to my old draft board, buddy, this is what I said:
Sarge, I'm only eighteen, I got a ruptured spleen
And I always carry a purse
I got eyes like a bat, my feet are flat, and my asthma's
getting worse
O think of my career, my sweetheart dear, and my poor old
invalid aunt
Besides, I ain't no fool, I'm a goin' to school, and I'm
working in a defense plant
I've got a dislocated disc and a racked up back
I'm allergic to flowers and bugs
And when the bombshell hits, I get epileptic fits
And I'm addicted to a thousand drugs
I got the weakness woes, and I can't touch my toes
I can hardly reach my knees
And if the enemy came close to me
I'd probably start to sneeze
(chorus)
I hate Chou En Lai, and I hope he dies,
but one thing you gotta see
That someone's gotta go over there
and that someone isn't me
So I wish you well, Sarge, give 'em Hell
Yeah, Kill me a thousand or so
And if you ever get a war without blood and gore
Well I'll be the first to go
That is a great one I think maybe even the best of all.
good choice cav, the opening spoken bit is by the reverend jim jones if you didn't know
this is by loudon wainright, not really a war song but some elements work
Pretty Good Day
I slept through the night, I got through to the dawn
I flipped a switch and the light went on
I got out of bed and I put some clothes on
It's a pretty good day so far
I turned the tap, there was cold there was hot
I put on my coat to go to the shop
I stepped outside, and I didn't get shot
It's a pretty good day so far
I didn't hear any sirens or explosions
No murders coming in form those heavy guns
No UN tanks, I didn't see one
It's a pretty good day so far
No snipers in windows, taking a peak
No people panic, running scared through the streets
I didn't see any bodies without arms, legs, or feet
It's a pretty good day
There was plasma bandages and electricity
Food, wood, and water; and the air was smoke free
No camera crews from my TV
It was all such a strange sight to be home
Nobody was frightened, wounded, hungry, or cold
And the children seemed normal, they didn't look old
It's a pretty good day so far
I walked through a park, you would not believe it
There in the park, there were a few trees left
And on some branches, there were a few leaves
I slept through the night, got through to the dawn
I flipped the switch and the light went on
I wrote down my dream, I wrote this song
It's a pretty good day so far
Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore
© John Prine
While digesting Reader's Digest
In the back of a dirty book store,
A plastic flag, with gum on the back,
Fell out on the floor.
Well, I picked it up and I ran outside
Slapped it on my window shield,
And if I could see old Betsy Ross
I'd tell her how good I feel.
Chorus:
But your flag decal won't get you
Into Heaven any more.
They're already overcrowded
From your dirty little war.
Now Jesus don't like killin'
No matter what the reason's for,
And your flag decal won't get you
Into Heaven any more.
Well, I went to the bank this morning
And the cashier he said to me,
"If you join the Christmas club
We'll give you ten of them flags for free."
Well, I didn't mess around a bit
I took him up on what he said.
And I stuck them stickers all over my car
And one on my wife's forehead.
Repeat Chorus:
Well, I got my window shield so filled
With flags I couldn't see.
So, I ran the car upside a curb
And right into a tree.
By the time they got a doctor down
I was already dead.
And I'll never understand why the man
Standing in the Pearly Gates said...
"But your flag decal won't get you
Into Heaven any more.
We're already overcrowded
From your dirty little war.
Now Jesus don't like killin'
No matter what the reason's for,
And your flag decal won't get you
Into Heaven any more."
