Tommy Atkins

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I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
But Jonah told me beat it, we don't serve no rebels here.
No folks who shouldered treason's guns and shot clear round the
world
We're heading off to Empire, with the Yankee flag unfurled!
For it's Jonah this, and Buckley that, and Derbyshire, you say?
But they'll be manning u2018puters when the bands begin to play.
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s “So long Mr. Buckley”, when the band begins to play.

Yet how thought I, can Buckley's brood, to such a task apply?
For when the guns start shootin' e'en ne-cons might die?
They talk a war so deadly that my knees began to shake
They sling the bits and bytes so hard, and ne'er war do make
For it's Jonah this, and Buckley that, and Derbyshire, you know?
Who serve as armchair warriors when the horns begin to blow
They serve as armchair warriors turning red the very air
As they plot the wars and send the boys, off somewhere over there.

The neo-cons have come to town, to set the rabble right
Who dared to question motives fair, about the coming fight
For their job's just to fight the war with lips sewed tightly shut
The gallant lads with u2018puters will keep them on the up and up
For it's Jonah this, and Buckley that, and Derbyshire, do tell?
Who think we're serving England, and the Southlands gone to hell.
The Southlands gone to hell the yanks and neo-cons agree
But it's Johnny Reb, who bleeds when men are sent off overseas…

They tore u2018ese symbols down and said he was a ghastly brute
But Johnny's back in style again, since the guns began to shoot
They don't much like our flag — it shows St. Andrew's pride
Reminding poor ole Johnny how our dream of freedom died
While it’s Johnny this, an’ Johnny that, an’ “Johnny, fall be’ind”,
But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there’s trouble in
the wind,
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s “Please to walk in front, John”, when there’s trouble in
the wind.

But Johnny's tired of fighting all of Mr. Buckley's fights
u2018ese wondrin' why a rebel lad should live without u2018ese rights?
And fight the wars of armchair dudes with dreams like all outdoors?
Dreams which offer Johnny not a thing u2018bout which u2018e cares?
So It's Johnny this and Johnny that, and keep your mouth wired
tightly
And Buckley's lads support you John, and write about it nightly.
Lest war come close to Yankees, neo-cons they call u2018em now days
Let Johnny fight for those to whom real fightin'don't come their
ways

Gird your loins up u2018o soldier boys, and girls too, u2018cause we're
crazy
And look for parts and bullets, your politicians have been lazy
Man your stress chits, file your claims, and hope those nasty bad
guys
Are no more threat than that you've heard from Buckley and his sad
guys!
For it's Johnny this and Janie that, my gosh, ain't things got
wacky?
Yet nothin' much has really changed, you'll find when you hit
Paki
Ole Fuzzi Wuzzi tied u2018ese luck and whupped our new friend Ivan
Yet Buckley now informs us, it's all over but the dyin'..

For Derbyshire and Jonah snort, and huff and puff they may
The price in blood is something Johnny Reb will have to pay
u2018E'll get not of what's to gain, outside a flag draped coffin'
And u2018fore u2018es safely in the ground, A new war'll be in the offin'
For it's Jonah this, and Buckley that, and Derbyshire, do tell?
Who think we're serving England, and the Southlands gone to hell.
The Southlands gone to hell the yanks and neo-cons agree
But it's Johnny Reb, who bleeds when men are sent off overseas…

So now we see the blood u2018o Yanks and Rebs has run together
In shattered towns and buildings down, which could u2018ave been prevented
While Buckley dreamed u2018o empire the rest of us did not
Yet when the down u2018an dirty comes, it ain't Buckley that gets shot
For it's Buckley this, and Buckley that, and Buckley u2018owes yr
soul?
But it's so long Mr. Buckley, when the drums begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, my boys, and Johnny Reb responds,
Yet it was Buckley's merry men who dreamt of dropping bombs!

For
it’s Johnny this, an’ Johnny that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it’s “Saviour of ‘is country” when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Johnny this, an’ Johnny that, an’ anything you please;
An’ Johnny ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Johnny sees!

September
22, 2001

Mr. Peirce [send him
mail
] fought with the Rhodesian freedom fighters (the Ian Smith
side, of course).

Michael
Peirce Archives

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