*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."