eighteen years old, screaming in a ditch amputated legs in a war fought for the rich but the bosses shed no tears as you bled and cried `cos your butchery battle-proved the weapons they had sold to the other side time to stop the war b.p. ain`t worth dying for orphaned children cry, screaming for their dad but when he comes home he`ll be in a body bag another loved one is left legless, condemned to a wheelchair this is "precision bombing" with your great military hardware you make a tv game of slaughter and terror air attacks a video distration from recession and poll tax forget and fight for you? we`re the people that you`re screwing no, you`ll only see us fight to give your bailiffs a good doing
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