A Song about guns

 

The little guys swarm round the world – they’ve got their time on loan.

There are good guys, there are bad guys; some in gangs, and some alone.

I know a few of the good ones;

I see their wings in my head.

But I’m friends too with some bad ones,

And they all want guns:

They want guns, they want guns – and bloodshed!

The Mr Bigs – rich as Croesus – they see the missile’s charms

But the little guys, what can they do? They just need firearms.

Look at that deadbeat loser –

Not a ruble in his pocket.

But what’s in there? Look closer –

A gun. He’s going to cock it.

He’s been dreaming about supper

Since he missed it last night.

His shoes are on their uppers,

Tatty jacket far too tight.

I’ll walk with him along the way,

Through the evening lightly.

But my sweaty fingers always stay

On the trigger tightly.

I’m purposeful, I’m on business –

A little hammered, slightly stoned, slightly pissed.

Hey, what you looking at me for? It’s not like I’m a cripple –

I can pass for a human if I have a decent tipple.

Ok, right, you odd ones.

A little chat, now – come along.

And when we’ve dined and had some fun,

I’ll sing to you about guns

About guns, about guns, a song!

Mr Big may look like a little guy

As he lays out card by card.

But it’s the biggest stakes he plays by –

He plays high and he plays hard.

He likes to set off a bomb or two

But that’s not for the likes of us.

We’re a much more humble crew –

Just a handgun and no fuss.

The gun I bought’s in my pocket here,

Primed and at the ready.

It’s all I need to stop the fear.

A stiletto, sharp and deadly.

The normal folk are scurrying by

Desperate not to meet.

But we’re tooled up to terrify

As we stride out down the street.

The barrel searches faces like a tease

You there! Hands on the wall.  Just freeze!

You’re wasting time with chemicals – that’s a futile plan,

But if you get yourself an axe, boy, then you’ll be a man.

Now my story has begun –

The unvarnished truth, and strong.

I’ll sing it as well as anyone.

I’ll sing to you about guns

About guns, about guns, a song!

Why ever buy new underwear?

That’s no damn use in a fight.

Better buy yourself a gun just there

Round the corner, on the right.

Let’s gets started. Come on, let’s go

Learn to shoot – it’s a cinch!

Papers like news about guns, you know,

Filling every column inch.

What a feeling deep in your gut!

What bitterness in your soul!

An artist had his life slammed shut

For a papier mache bowl.

Come on. Shoot away at will.

At people, at puppies, at kittens.

Thank God that they sell firearms still –

That won’t soon be forbidden.

As long as guns aren’t banned, you know it’s ok;

You don’t need to be scared now, everything is ok.

Easy for the barracuda with fangs – well, of course, he never shows fear.

He doesn’t need guns, ‘cos he’s Big. He’s Big and that’s enough.

But for the small guy without guns, he may as well not be here.

Yes, without guns, he’s just a target – and that is really tough.

The Mr Bigs shoot rhinos

And hunt big game with a gun.

But for us, that’s not the way it goes –

The gun game is never fun.

Let the big guys in high places

Play the big game if they choose.

They can set a Panther through its paces

Or simply never lose.

But this gun here in my pocket –

It’s my new pet ‘minnow’.

For us guys down at the bottom,

A gun’s a cosy pillow.

I feel the warm blood pulsing through

My temples, wet and muddy.

My finger grips, sweaty and blue,

On the trigger, hot and sticky.

We, yes, the little people, rip holes in society’s sheet,

But if you stand aside awhile, and look at us once more.

Behind the narrow shoulders and beyond the little feet,

You’ll see looming two futile, tragic and gigantic wars.

“Lay low, keep quiet and you won’t get hit”

That’s what we’re often taught.

But you’re a mug if you fall for it.

That’s why guns are bought.

The northeast wind’s begun to blow

Now a fair price has been set.

Yes, our country, thank god I know,

Is still a free country yet!

But you know, this life is cheap –

Like dust, you blow then its gone.

The ashes scatter, there’s nothing to keep –

Like a cheap fag, smoke and move on.

And this little life hangs on

By a single stray loose hair.

One press on the trigger and it’s gone

As if nothing was ever there…

As long as we can still buy guns, we’re not in trouble yet.

Taking a life is like spitting; we were taught how to fight.

Everywhere is war without a war, and with bare hands, you bet,

You can’t threaten someone or nail them, or hijack a flight.

No-one’s out of reach of a bullet

For a bullet, there’s no devil or God.

We shoot as we wish and say ‘fuckit’!

So keep clear, and give us the nod.

All ages and colours fall prey

To the thrill of a shooting attack:

Old and young, him and her, blonde or grey.

Asian, Caucasian or black.

What a feeling deep in your gut!

It’s all too familiar today!

Not just a cover shot of a killer but

With a girl in a negligee.

Our world is awash with losers,

Clutching axes bought for a dime,

And with boys pressing their fingers

On triggers all of the time.