Tommy Atkins

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