You have a natural tendency
To squeeze off a shot
You're good fun at parties
You wear the right masks
You're old but you still
Like a good laugh in the locker room
You can't abide change
You're at home on the range
You opened your suitcase
Behind the old workings
To show off the magnum
You deafeted the canyon
A comfort a friend
Only upstaged in the end
By the Uzi machine gun
Does the recoil remind you
Remind you of sex
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Saw a U.S. Marine in a pile of debris
I swam in your pools
And lay under your palm trees
I looked in the eyes of the Indian
Who lay under on the Federal Building steps
And through the range finder over the hill
I saw the frontline boys popping their pills
Sick of the mess they find
On their desert stage
And the bravery of being out of range
Yeah the question is vexed
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
Hey bartender over here
Two more shots
And two more beers
Sir turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser guided bombs
They're really great
For righting wrongs
You hit the target
And win the game
>From bars 3,000 miles away
3,000 miles away
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
We zap and maim
With the bravery of being out of range
We strafe the train
With the bravery of being out of range
We gain terrain
With the bravery of being out of range
With the bravery of being out of range
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
Pigs (Three Different Ones) Gilmour/Mason/Waters/Wright Pink Floyd Music 1977
Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are And when your hand is on your heart You're nearly a good laugh Almost a joker With your head down in the pig bin Saying "keep on digging" Pig stain on your fat chin What do you hope to find? When you're down in the pig mine You're nearly a laugh You're nearly a laugh But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are You radiate cold shafts of broken glass You're nearly a good laugh Almost worth a quick grin You like the feel of steel You're hot stuff with a hat pin And good fun with a hand gun You're nearly a laugh You're nearly a laugh But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are You're trying to keep our feelings off the street You're nearly a real treat All tight lips and cold feet And do you feel abused? .....!.....!.....!.....! You gotta stem the evil tide And keep it all on the inside George you're nearly a treat George you're nearly a treat But you're really a cry.