BLOODS.

 

They did not want to fight, the white mans war.

There was a war at home, knocking on their door.

Some were drafted, some broke the law.

It was off to prison or off to war.

Jimi Hendrix would not go.

Cassius Clay, he said no.

Stripped of his title, and off to jail.

Some burnt their draft cards, they got in the mail.

Some went to Canada, to avoid the draft.

Others thought, that was too daft.

 

Blacks in Nam, were big and strong.

Couldn’t have boom boom, their dicks were too long.

The Vietnamese girls, were small and tight.

But love you long tome, sometimes all night.

On R&R smoking some dope.

Fighting in a bar, with another slope.

Giving a high five, to a Brother.

A real mean looking mother.

The black man in Nam, said he had soul.

It was hard to maintain, in that hellhole.

 

The number of coloured deaths, were too great.

Once you were there, it was too late.

The black man was always on point.

That’s why they often smoked a joint.

It heightened their senses, but their reactions were slow.

They shot at any shadow.

The Pointman was often the first to get hit.

Or fall into a deep Pungi pit.

Unrest soon became apparent, amongst blacks and whites.

The black GI’s wanted equal rights.

 

Foxhole brotherhood had gone.

The white mans war was wrong.

Cross burning and confederate flags.

From the Rednecks and white comrades.

They hoped to come home to more.

But found less, just another kind of war.

Not wanting to sleep above ground.

With a gun and your stuff close around.

Having violent dreams when you sleep.

Weapon in hand, around the house you creep.

 

Attacking your mother, or your wife.

With your bare hands, or a knife.

Getting turned down for a job, time after time.

Turning to a life of crime.

When the Vietnamese came to the states.

They got a home and a job, with good rates.

The Brothers fought a war, and got nothing.

Don’t mean nothin’, not a thing.

A lot of vets, wished they had died over there

When they got back home, nobody cared.

 

By:- Mick Stewart.