Ol' Johnson

*Gunshot* Chorus "The problem is all inside your head, she said to me X 2 "The answer is easy if you take it logically." Verse 1 They say Ol' Johnson was trying to escape He threw off his rifle and ran to the gate Said he was tired of living in this place One more "Fire!" and he'd shoot himself in the face Ironically enough, that's where they got him when they shot him Right in the face, his screams turned to coughings Throat hurting, he needs a super Lozenge And a visit, as it is, I'm his cousin At the hospital, no queues by his door I rarely spoke to Johnson: he was always a bore Never wanted to talk about his rifle or drills At his bedside, I ask him how he feels He blinks, his face bursting at the seams Turns away when I tell him what I think The words of the Green White Green The motherland: This is what she sings Chorus X 2 Bridge As my feet hits the ground (Left! Left! Right! Attention!) Rifle in my hand, my heart starts to pound, uh! Sweat trickles down my brow Drums go tic tic tic tic pow! We move as one, a well-polished gun More machine than us, it's so much fun But on some days when the sun is gone I can't help but wish that we were done Verse 2 Because...as we drill Others start to lose the drive Tired of moving to another man's will Tired because they've got a mind "I want what is mine, not ours or thine." So they cower at the back of the lines Doing what they're not supposed to do Rebels without a clue But then she finds out and she comes for their heads The toy queen of the Green White Green Angry, she spits, tears off their legs And all they do is scream, their tears are streams But we know it gets worse When the moms sees the hearse So we turn away and they tell us what to think The words of the Green White Green The motherland: this is what we sing Chorus X 2 Verse 3 Ol' Johnson...he died today His heart gave out as his mom knelt to pray Living and breathing...now a lump of clay We're born alone, we die alone: it's the world's way Just me and his family at the eulogy Reminiscing on life and when it used to be Simple, we wore the dreams of our parents Flashing on our backs like it was the latest Fashions but its a funny thing about passion The older you get, the drier that well It's like I woke up from an ingrained spell I want different things, not the same old beans My hands don't fit this rifle I want a trumpet; I want to sing Signed The Toysoldier Who Won't March To The Beat Of His Own Molder: the Green White Green Chorus "The problem is all inside your head, she said to me "The answer is easy if you take it logically." "I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free X 2 There must be fifty ways to leave your lover."