Make bullets not butter. Take our wealth and blow it up. Add to the debt of my children, Though it will never be enough.
The dividends of peace are rare, When you won’t let warships rust. Let the fighters and destroyers sit, And be blown away to dust.
But there are boogeymen and threats unknown, If a single head hair harmed, You’ll be red in the face so we send them to death, Stock being led from the barn.