NAM

Words & Music by Robert McKean

I went to Viet Nam back in ‘69
I saw the poster sayin’ Uncle Sam wants you – you’ll do just fine
How was I to know that to the jungles I’d be sent?
Thought I’d be sittin’ back pickin’ off commies just to pay my rent
Thought that everyone of them godless freaks would be dressed in black
Walkin’ back and forth in front of me like a shootin’ gallery track

I got my thumb blown off by a Claymore mine
I was a mighty bit embarrassed when they found out it was mine
I had buried it there to kill me a Viet Cong
I musta put in upside down or something ‘cuz everything went wrong
The sergeant made me do pushups for about a week
He said it was the first time one of them bombs had worked or somethin’ to speak

I got back from Nam back in ‘71
Missin’ two years of my life and my right hand thumb
I went to the unemployment office and they said, Son
We ain’t got no job for you and where the hell’s your thumb?
All the things I’d seen started comin’ back to me again
Hot lead from AK-47’s wizzin’ through the wind

The State Department called about two years ago
The said we sympathize with you son - ain’t it terrible
All them things in Viet Nam, man, they made us sick
But your country needs you son, and it needs you quick
We got some commies down in Nicaragua – we gotta make ‘em bleed
And we got 126 freedom fighters that we’d like you to lead

I trained ‘em in Honduras in the name of peace
That night we crossed the border, raped two nuns, and killed a priest
The new recruits are anxious and as yet not too refined
Got to remind myself to tell ‘em not to take so much time
The American public is against us almost two-to-one
But they sit around and don’t do nothin’ while they ship us guns

When Desert Storm called me - how could I say no?
So I soaked in blood and oil from head to toe
I torched a couple oilfields behind Kuwaiti lines
Takin' friendly fire just to cover the crimes
I never question orders that I've been told
But it beats a factory job and it never gets old
 
Sent me back to Baghdad lookin' for a nuke
All them faggot protesters make me wanna puke
'W' said said they get us if we gave them hope
Now I'm liberatin' rag heads with a sniper scope
Some are kinda young but it's so hard to tell
And it's dirty stinking filthy and it's hot as hell

I’m starin’ at the ceiling thinking what have I done
To deserve a life of killin’ and a smoking gun
Did I sell my soul and later on forget the cost
Or am I an evil person who somehow got lost
When I look around I realize I’m just like the rest
I just died a little at a time while trying to do my best


© 2004 Snarling Panda Productions