I fought for Harold up north and marched once more to Battle.
On the beaches of France, I ducked the bombers and the tracers of machine gun rattle.
I marched with Percy at Shrewsbury and laid my life down for the white rose.
I lifted my bow at Azincourt for the red;
And white again at Bosworth for my king against his foes.
In my coat that once was red and green, khaki and sand;
I’ve fought the enemies of my leaders with my merry band.
And sometimes my kin folk fell beneath my sword, as England tore itself apart,
When we killed our king and lost both our way;
And our heart.
I was for both parliament in t’early days and crown upon the latter,
And at the Boyne I lifted my musket for Orange and afore it, the papists did scatter,
I quelled the rebellious Scot on murky Culloden’s field,
An’ centuries afore, the Roman’s broadsword fell upon my shield.
At Waterloo, I wore Bottle green and with my Baker made Boney run.
I’ve lived my life by the sound of the battle, the carnage, cannon and the drum.
Where in the bleak South Atlantic, or the North African plains,
I considered only fleeting the losses we bore and our gains.
I’ve pointed my rifle to orders from above and thought not about the cause I fight.
Whether ’tis a just one we do;
Or wrong or right.
And then I wonder sometimes if I’d not been ready to die;
Shed my blood on Flanders fields or the dirt of some foreign land,
Could those wars be fought at all, if the men who started ’em had to die hand to hand?
I slew those fellows in coats of blue and grey,
For them was orders, and I think of those who sent me;
They I serve,
I wonder sometimes, now, what they are worth,
Those soulless men who threw my life away,
For y’know… I wouldn’t give ’em, the bastards… the time of day.