The people who decide on war

keep well away from the front door.

They sit and talk and laugh and sigh

While all the pawns charge and then die.

Wars come and go. The other side

is all to blame, and those who died

will be sent off by the top brass,

a lot of crosses in the grass.

For we are statesmen, know that arms

Are more important than our farms.

The destiny of all us great

Is to decide the nation’s fate.

Without these wars the state becomes

a welfare state for loads of bums.

We give the nation victory

so you can drink your cups of tea.

They’re wrong. We’re right. So, we must win

And throw the loser in the bin.

We must be safe to use our might

Because we know our truth is right.

You must be led by us, for we

Always will have an enemy.

They war, like us, we know not why,

Prepared to let their people die.

The mighty talk they know not what.

They, not our soldiers, should be shot,

Or rather, all their bloody plot

Of fighting needs to be forgot.

Arms made to kill must be closed down

As they have been in Bungay town.

“You don’t shoot me”, said Fred to Tom

“And I know you don’t have a bomb.”

Yew wastin’ words, say Tom to Fred.

Why buy to kill your neighbour dead?

Let’s think aboot a bit a fud.

Them sossidge rolls taste hoolly good.