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