My earliest memories are of post war London. Bomb craters and dead Dads. Also I use to dream about being in wars from many different time periods. I myself use to be a real scraper in my youth and enjoyed fighting I still think that a little Agro can solve some problems.
The Aries Song. (dob.4-4)
This scarlet that I wear Is like a coat of hair,
But it shows that to Britania i am bound.
White webbing on my breast was by the Bishop blessed
And it keeps me safe upon the battle ground.
The pack upon my back will carry my hardtack
And the booty thet i plunder from the foe.
I will kill without remource as I walk the reapers course
And I will go where I am told to go.
So march the bloody measure and tred the muddy mile.
The army is my family, my brothers march in file.
We sing the Aries credo, we sing the songs of hate.
We live the life of fortune and we live the live of fate.
I am married to Miss Brown Bess who loves me more or less
And I hold her tight besides me every night.
We guard each other well for weve seen the gates of hell
And she stands before me when were in a fight.
I call her names so fair as I clean her out with care,
I place my life within her deep embrace.
Without her I am done for shes more than just a gun,
Its her not prayers that are my saving grace.
So march the bloody measure and fight the gory fight.
The sargent is our mother he is our guiding light.
He knows our little nicknames and says them with a grin.
He calls us every morning and at night he tucks us in.
Iv sailed across the seas to please their Majesties
And I am pleased to place the Jack where ere they order.
Dispite the wrongs and rights its allways been my plight
To display Impirial might across the border.
I have no kith or kin (they died from bathtub gin)
So I have been adopted by the British army.
They feed and cloth me fine so I will stand in line
And pray the butchers bill will pass and never harm me.
So march the bloody measure and wear a rictus grin.
All the spirit that I need is in a tot of gin
I took the golden guinnes they placed upon the drum,
So I will stand like a man amidst the bullets hum.
These boots upon my feet have never seen retreat,
Their polished with the sweat of victory.
The marching that theyve done to the tatoo of the drum,
Are part of all our glorious history.
The bodies left behind, (not mine so never mind)
Are forgotten by a joyous nation.
Its victors write the books and then by hook or crook,
We all forget the price of liberation.
So March March March the bloody measure.
Tred Tred Tred the murder mile.
We are the unknown soldiers who great death with a smile.
We sing the Aries credo we croon the psalms of hate.
We die the death of fortune. We die the death of fate.
When I go to war on a distant shore I`ll fight for peace and glory.
If truth be told Im far from bold for the hero I play poorly.
I think once more on last nights whore and the $10 that I blew.
The Hired kiss of a silky miss and my inocents was through.
Recieve my gong singing victory songs while banners bravly wave
In uniform with head all shorn we gaze on passed the grave.
Our mighty horde led by WarLord to triumph surly going.
We cry goodby with tearfull eye and remember Autum mowing.
The flags unfurl as we squre the world our lines are thinly reded.
Stiff uper lip, I must not slip, to history we are headed.
My heart it quakes my legs do shake but the Captain he stays lazy
My spirits quale Im bound to fail...then my mind became red hazy
The battles done the dawns red yawn gives focus to our sorrow.
A blood red rag has become our flag,dyed scarlet by the harrow.
My bodies hale I did not fail. I`ll live to fight tomorrow !!!!!!
patrol.
Its 2 in the morning and my patrols out,
We just got prime info from our protty snout.
We`ll nab Provo bastards at home in their beds.
Put boots to their bollocks and guns to their heads.
Fighting and dying in old Belfast town,
Dodgeing and crawling to shake the shits down.
The spitting and taunts from the women and kids.
A banging and throwing their old dustbin lids.
We know he`s got guns ,a little bird told us
He uses them often to shoot British soldiers.
He hides behind women and children and God.
We`ll give him a kneecap the thick micky sod!
Fighting and dying in dank paddy bog
Dodgeing and crawling through historic fog.
The spittle of women the screaming of kids,
Throwing shitbricks at us and old dustbin lids.
You four at the front door, the rest round the back.
When the whistle blows twice barge in and atack
Push passed the brood rats, slap his slut out the door.
Put boots to his bollocks, slam his face on the floor.
Fighting dying in old Ballymurphy,
Dodgeing and crawling for old hope and glory.
The verbles of women the taunting of kids.
Throwing Mollies at us, and old dustbin lids.
Rip up the floorbourds , tear the seats from his chairs.
Smash all his furniture. Look everywhere.
"Whats that ! you looked and your sure theres no gun.
We must have the wrong house.!!!! Tough titty old son.
Fighting ,Dying for God only knows what.
Dodging crawling trying not to get shot.
The spitting of Enfields, the booming of bombs.
The women wailing plantive funeral songs............
Women&Children
O let us go back and examine the facts of the wars that our men folk have been in
Then let us lend pause to the bloody cause of the tears of the women and children
Who use to stay home away from the bombs while their loved were killing and dying.
For 200 years theyve shed oceans of tears to drownd all survivors and griveing.
But what of the widows and orphans who suffer the ravage of war. What of the women and children, can you tell me what their dying for.
Oh where is the gain in the agony and pain of these innocents caught in the cauldron
Some wars weve been in, we carried no sin when we fought for the freedom of others.
In that dread cival war, what we fought for was a chance to call all men our brothers.
The blood of the dead died Antioch red mid the tears of the women and children.
Whole families were torn engulfed in the storm as the pennants of passion were flying.
But what of the women and children who witness this terrible gore. What of the women and children, can you tell me what their dying for.
Ohh where is the gain in the the horror and pain of these innocents caught in the cauldron.
With God on our side and death as our bride we have trampled our manifest destiny.
The Indians died when the reverents lied crusified in the annuls of history.
We never gave thought as we plundered and shot for the tears of the women and children.
Those noncombatants, young maidens and Aunts who perrished in grief at our passing.
Oh what of the women and children who survive the ravage of war.
Oh what of the women and children can you tell me what their dying for.
There is no gain, there is only pain,
For the innocents caught in the cauldron.
The sun was blazing brightly as the troops began to land
A force of freedom had arived, salvation was at hand.
Historic laws demanded that we could not ignore
The plight of oppressed people, so we raise the flag of war
Hussain invaded Kuwait with Allah ,guns and tanks
The evil as he saw it was the place was run by Yanks
And Bush invaded Panama to capture Noriaga
He killed 2000 citizens and said he was their saviour
Vietnam. Afganistan, its all the bloody same
Panama or Kuwait its all a gory game.
Mealy mouthed excuses pour from the visious lips
As they solve their problems with bullets, bombs and blips
The British in Malaysia or Israiles in Bearuit
They never pause to ponder but only stop to shoot
Super powers get their way no matter what the score
And justify afterward by bending rules and law
But there are many people who quote the U.N. law
And argue that we cant invade without declaring war
That we should use diplomacy before we turn to might
And there in lies the differance between the wrong and right.
