words and music by Paul Spencer, 2003

There’s a rumour of conscription hanging round at Number Ten,
But no-one’s been on telly with the how and why and when,
Nonetheless I found I fretted, but only for a while,
And then I started thinking with a slightly crooked smile:

Come on then, conscript me! You’ll wish you never did,
I’m a can of worms, be my guest take off the lid,
For war’s a game for powermongers, not for folks like me,
And if you force it on me watch how peaceful I can be.

D - - - / E - - - / D - - - / A - - - /
D - - - / Bm6 - - - / B5add 9 - - - / - - - - /
Bm - - - / F#m - - - / G - - - / A - - - /
Bm - - - / Bm - - - / D - G - / A - - - /

Dmaj7 - - - / Gmaj7 - - - / Dmaj7 - Amaj7 - / Bm.maj6 - - - /
C#dim7 - - - / C#m - Bm - / F#m - G#m - / C#m - - - /
Bm - - - / A - D - / D - G - / Esus4 - - - /
(bass notes A - E - / F# - E - /) Amaj7 - - - / A5add9 - - - / - - - - /

I’ll chat about the havoc war will wreak on people’s lives,
And I‘ll ask who’ll tell their girlfriend about raping Muslim wives,
I’ll call it Gulf War Syndrome every time I have a cold,
And I’ll answer “Whose life is it?” when I don’t like what I’m told.

I’ll talk so much of bums that all the men will think I’m gay,
But even if you ask I won’t be certain either way,
I’ll never fail to squeak and jump each time the sergeant yells,
And I’ll never learn to shoot a gun or launch a mortar shell.

I’ll rant about the biosphere and how we’re all just one,
And every morning my religion says I must salute the sun,
I’ll sew patches on my uniform of rainbows, doves and trees,
And I’ll skip instead of walking, and I’ll march with wobbly knees.