RPG

Vegged out on couch, playing call of duty
On to next level he’s woken sleeping beauty
With a death kiss, in a foreign land
He’s swapped his karkis for army issue brand, he’s
Bought the ticket signed up from the commercial
Cool boats, cool tanks, so controversial
To his trendy school mates, who condemn
First person shooters, first person is shooting dem he’s
Barely seventeen, still a virgin
Verging on violent and mentally disturbing
But that’s okay you see,
He’ll be free
To legally kill every brown man he sees, yes
Fresh off the boat, the boat from Dagenham
Where he once ruled em and schooled em in fucking stabbing ‘em
He’ll be free to murder with impunity
And if he’s lucky they’ll let him die for queen and country
But lets stop, collaborate and listen
From the moment he was conceived and born and then christened
His story has been told a hundred times before
And will another fucking million times or more, see
Chewed up, spat out and on the dole
Fed up with begging and borrowing, he stole
A one-way ticket to life with a purpose
Subject to requirement, to requirement he’s surplus
And expendable now, how’s that feel?
Fighting a war that isn’t even fucking real
See, he’s back online, with lives a plenty
He powered up on level five and got twenty
And there’s no difference now
He’s at the front
Not even called a private, call him a fucking grunt
See how he bleeds, see how it feels
Playing a game that isn’t even fucking real
Now hold up, back up, hang tough
As a kid he was always told he was never good enough
So all that hatred and anger and indignation in this nation
culminated in this violent vocation
He only wanted to know what it felt like
To kill a brother with a butterfly knife, right
But now he’s been there and done that and bought the t-shirt
He somehow ain’t…an army convert
Fuck justice, fuck truce, fuck aid
Fuck Cameron, fuck Clegg, fuck Hague
He graduated from paki bashing to towel-heads
He’s getting medals stead of grief from the town-feds
RPG ain’t a grenade but a role-play game
Yippie muthafucka sing yippie-kai-ay same
He’s dying hard on another level now
Instead of coked-up in a punch-up with the Wig & Gown

This ain’t no dulce et decorum est, you see
A bullet through his vest, pro patria mori
Last thing go through his mind, fire of a friendly kind
And begs the question how he died for you and me