War Whores

The congressman speaks at a town hall meeting.
Says no money is there for stuff they're needing.
When  people lack healthcare the answer is no.
But if a missile needs funding? Well, honey, let’s go.
He talks about freedom and national pride,
With a lobbyist’s hand half up his backside.

[Chorus]
War whores! War whores!
Selling us out, as they're selling us wars.
Turning tricks for Lockheed and Boeing.
Gotta keep those blood-soaked profits growing.
Sluts for death in flag-pin suits.
Who gets buried? Who gets the loot?
They’ll fuck over the world for a campaign check,
And burden your grandkids with the debt.

The general says we must purchase this jet.
It can't pass its tests, but it ain't finished yet.
He calls every critic a threat to the troops,
Then retires to a boardroom and cashes the loot.
Same fucking sales pitch, a much bigger fee:
“What’s good for the company’s good for D.C.”

[Chorus]
War whores, war whores,
Stars on their shoulders and hands in your drawers.
Turning tricks for Lockheed and Boeing,
Pimping for the Pentagon. Our souls they are hoeing.
Raise that flag and drop that fear,
Give the shareholders something to cheer.
The general’s booked for a banquet speech;
The people he kills are beyond his reach.

The president promised to bring the troops home,
Then met with the men who had paid for his throne.
They brought him some cash and a list of suppliers,
A map, and some words for the funeral choirs.
He practiced “with heavy heart” twice in the hall,
Then went out and ordered more names for the wall.

Ike left a warning before he left office:
In the business of war, watch out for who profits.
They hung up his portrait and praised his career,
Then billed us for crappy weapons year after year.
Ike's face watches over the contracts they sign;
They toast his good name with lobbyists’ fine wine.

[Chorus]
War whores, war whores,
Another big spender for bases offshore.
Turning tricks for Lockheed and Boeing.
Pimping for the Pentagon, their souls they are hoeing.
Sluts for death in flag-pin suits.
Who gets buried? Who gets the loot?
They pocket the checks. We bury the dead.
And our grandkids get the bill instead.

A mother gets handed a neatly folded flag;
The contractor’s wife gets a new jewelry bag.
The wounded get forms and musical mournings.
The board gets a bonus for record earnings.
They stand for the anthem, then sit down to eat—
The men who made millions supplying the fleet.

No more wars! no more wars!
Quit sending our children to die, you war whores!
Put down the champagne. Pick up the gun.
Go tell your own family what has to be done.
If war is so noble, so righteous, so true,
Get out of the boardroom—
The front line needs you.

[Chorus]
War whores, war whores,
There’s blood on the money you’re begging us for.
Turning tricks for Lockheed and Boeing,
Pimping for the Pentagon, our souls they are hoeing.
You sold your souls. That choice was yours.
Our souls weren’t included.
They’re not fucking yours.