Bloodshed is glorious - a draftee's delusion
Fostered by Hollywood and faith in the union
He packed up his scrapbook, said farewell to his mother
Now he had not a home, just a new band of brothers
Sam was his new Lord, whose mercy was phony
A carbine his lover, the trigger her quoniam
Blue waters shrank beneath as Wagner resounded
Yet he was only a pawn, in servitude grounded
Dear young Rebel, bow to your uncle
Raise up the flag, support it from underneath
Don't worry, Rebel, they'll bring you back home soon
Parades and medals for your platoon
What are we doing here? He started wondering
With the natives never tiring, the weapons always firing
From somewhere in the distant brush; the Rebel swore he'd had enough
If only he knew what was coming
Deep in the jungle his company was creeping
They saw up ahead a yellow boy weeping
A soldier moved in, and the little boy ran
It was too late by then; they saw the black on his hands
On top of a land mine the soldier was broiled
By gunpowder made on American soil
From the charred melted flesh came a series of cries
Like "Have mercy, Lord!" and "Sweet Jesus Christ!"
Oh, dear Rebel, war sure ain't pretty
But you must remember the investments of Washington D.C.
Those who die are heroes, but those who run are rotten
Hang in there, Rebel, and you'll never be forgotten
That same night, the orders came through
From a faceless man over the radio:
"There's a little town about a mile west
Take supplies, burn the buildings down, and you know the rest"
Well, the Rebel knew it wasn't his choice
A gear in a machine doesn't get a voice
The soldiers conserved their ammunition
And slit every yellow throat in sight - a successful mission
It's a funny thing, killing those you've never met
So the Rebel laughed aloud as his insides wept, screaming,
"All you yellow bastards, I hope you've seen what we can do
When you fuck with freedom, there'll be red, black, and blue"
Oh, dear Rebel, I'm afraid you're going mad
When killing gets personal, you know it's getting bad
You see, war's a business and your country needs control
Of your mind, of your body, of your heart, and your soul
Don't you get nostalgic for your welcome mat's allure
'Cuz home ain't coming soon, you got another tour
More rounds exchanged, wounds exchanged, and deaths exchanged