Recipe for a War

One vain prince, caring more for his looks than survival,
A handful of hypocritical countries, colonizing, but not letting others expand,
One ambitious country, believing that it should rule all,
And Millions of Soldiers, willing to lose a leg, a foot, an arm, or a hand.

Miles of plains, with a few villages for taste,
To be destroyed, Tons and tons of dirt and mud, with trenches,
Hundreds of craters, from battlefields laid waste,
And an army of mechanics, each one armed with wrenches.

Billions of Gallons of Blood, and Gore,
Thousands more tons of mud, and several thousand corpses, too,
War machines, set to roll, and more
Mud, then in order to mix it together just right, here's what you do:

Shoot the vain prince with bullets from a gun,
have him die in his fancy shirt.
Don't let other countries have all the fun,
Take over some of their dirt.

Form up your soldiers, on the mud, in a line,
Give each one of them a gun.
Tell them that everything will all be fine -
By Christmas it will be done.

Destroy some villages, and lives along with them,
Let the men wallow in mud, like a bunch of pigs.
Make some craters of your own, and fill them
With nerve gas, to make the men turn to twigs.

Set your mechanics on your Machines,
And your doctors on your dead.
Have your accountants count your beans,
And it will rest on your head.