This song was written in pure rage against the Vietnam draft. I'm broke and old, made for the flag, oh that red white and blue. And when the man plays hail to the chief, pull the poor can't ask you, Lord. Send me, send me, I ain't no senator's son. Send me, send me, I ain't no fortunate one.
All the old paintings on the tomb, they do the sand dance, don't you know? If they move too quick, oh, they're falling down like a domino. All the five thousand men by the Nile, they got the money on a bet. Gold crocodiles, oh, they make nothing but we on a cigarette. Coral types with the hookah pipes, I say, oh, away, oh, away, oh, away, oh, away,
God of war, gathered in their masses. Just like witches at black masses. Evil minds that plot destruction. Sorcerer of death's construction. @MUSICMANIA742
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