Tag Archives: AGGRESSION



War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The other guys were different
And that made them negligent
And earned them the fate
Of a premature exit date.
They will always suffer defeat
That are not of the prime elite.
Killing such a strange enemy
Should garner no sympathy.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The children are taught
From the first days of school.
We are the good guys
And that’s the important rule.
Bear that in mind, kiddies
Because it will always be true.
We are the champions here
No matter what we do.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

Children with sticks for guns
Learn to play their games.
They get shot, but don’t fall.
They know just who to blame.
You missed me, they call
Until the bullets are for real.
Then, they learn to question
What they were taught to feel.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

That’s what all war is for
To make sure none are alive
To fight the glorious holy war.
So none manage to survive.
With overwhelming enmity,
Some faced down opposition
By obliterating the enemy
And earned their commission

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.



call to battle

Fools blather about the glory of the fight
And don’t hear the mothers crying at night.
The wives of those marauders on the roam
Cry because their husbands can’t come home.
The children of these battle-addicted men
Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again.
And still the moneyed few, urge on toward
Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.

Mandates from government palaces abound
But not as many as the dead on the ground.
People are expendable to the military,
There are no pensions in the cemetery.
It’s all about honor they tell the press.
Leaving someone else to clean the mess.

Fight for liberty and freedom, they say.
They really mean die for them every day.
It’s all about profit and always was.
It’s that and no more noble cause
When a nation not being attacked
Falsely claims they’re striking back.
Then goes on to leave thousands dead
So they can wear a crown upon their head.

If you see no words of shame in this
Then you have found what is amiss.
These people are not motivated by grace.
They have the look of evil upon their face.
They already own most of what is here
But they keep a running tally all year.
As too much is not enough they crave,
Even if that puts us all in our grave.


never seen nudists fight

Maybe after sighting
Each other buck naked
That ends the fighting
About whose is bigger
Or whose are real.
There ceases to be a trigger
Of envy, or competition,
As being clothes free
One is in no position
To hide behind frippery.

It is difficult to be snobbish
About your fabric and style
When all you are wearing
Is a sun hat and a smile.
Acting like you are a jock
Of taut body and shape
Wearing nothing but a sock
Makes you a target of japes
About getting over yourself
And maybe even getting real.
It really is that kind of situation;
That basic kind of reality deal.

Most of what is artificiality
Disappears when you’re nude.
It gets easier to face reality
And much harder to be rude.
We quickly see that we are
We are sisters and brothers
And we do not need to live
By rules of fathers and mothers.
They were taught to be afraid
Of body parts called ‘naughty bits’;
Words like ‘nasty’ and ‘stop that!’
You adults can say, ‘I want none of it.
I’m through with thinking my crotch
Is something evil, sick and twisted.
Take my genitalia out of the book
Where you have sinfulness listed.
I exist as nature has made me
And it is wrong of you to correct
The natural person as I was born
Being a prude is just a side-effect
Of being raised by people who
Were never raised quite right.
Maybe if everyone were nude
That would end the need to fight.

(Image is by Angel Boligan – El Universal, Mexico City)



South Vietnamese forces follow after terrified children, including 9-year-old Kim Phuc, center, as they run down Route 1 near Trang Bang after an aerial napalm attack on suspected Viet Cong hiding places, June 8, 1972. A South Vietnamese plane accidentally dropped its flaming napalm on South Vietnamese troops and civilians. The terrified girl had ripped off her burning clothes while fleeing. The children from left to right are: Phan Thanh Tam, younger brother of Kim Phuc, who lost an eye, Phan Thanh Phouc, youngest brother of Kim Phuc, Kim Phuc, and Kim's cousins Ho Van Bon, and Ho Thi Ting. Behind them are soldiers of the Vietnam Army 25th Division. (AP Photo/Nick Ut)

Go on, young soldier
Go where we say and die.
Take this gun and shoot,
Don’t bother to ask why.
Carry on this war we wage
Though it doesn’t make sense.
We invade anyone we want
And then call it all defense.

Go on, airmen and women.
Climb into expensive planes.
Fly over countries, drop bombs.
Don’t expect anyone to explain.
Line up ground targets well
In your high-power sights.
We have declared them enemies
And they don’t have rights.

Sail on, you navy people.
Turn their seas into ours.
Help our country reduce them
To rubble and dead in mere hours.
Transport equipment and personnel
And help them change things,
Then go to free ports on R and R
And buy your sweethearts rings.

Tromp on, military machine.
Make the world into the USA.
After all, they’re just wogs
And don’t have a thing to say.
If they were worthwhile people
They would be from back home.
Places like Akron, L.A. and Nome.

But they are not real people or
They would not get in our way
And try to stop our holy advance
To be the only people to stay.
When this endless war is done
We will be all that remains.
Be part of the American way, and
Kill or get killed for your pains.




You’re a Yankee-doodle Dingdong
Yankee shove it in your eye
Take your weapons and your death machines
We’d like to give some peace a try.
You’re not a Yankee-doodle sweetheart
We don’t think of you with joy.
Your name is now the same as Satan’s.
Please keep your Yankee-doodle ploys.

So tell us, Yankee-doodle blowhard,
Who asked you to be the cop?
It seems to be that you just plain horned in.
Please go be kind enough to stop.
You pissed off half the world by acting
Like you own the whole damn thing.
Yankee-doodle, where’s your conscience.
Why can’t you just let freedom ring?

Oh look. A Yankee-doodle drone hit.
Are we all supposed to cheer?
It isn’t safe to go out to the store
So many guns and bombs are here.
You’ve made the land into a target
There’s no way to keep the score.
Yankee-doodle, you’re disgusting.
Please learn what peace on earth is for.

Brent Kincaid




You come to me now
To tell me of your wars;
Of your desire to shoot
And bomb and score notches
On your national gun
And march with pride
In the parades to you
And your bloody glory,
Your gory story of death
And righteousness
And will hear less
About the starving many
Than any song of praise
About your loving god.

And your sanctified right
To use your might
And wealth and stealth
To place your boot
On the neck and loot
And plunder your people
With taxes to pay
For permission to stay
In other lands, armed,
Calling those that object
Traitors as you reject
Their reminders of us
And what we stand for.

We understand more
Thank you might think!
Though our cheeks are pink
With the flush of youth
That does not hide truth
From the eyes of the wise
Though you despise us
For not playing your game.
It is not the same for us
That you fuss at us
And label us cowards.
How are you brave
That can afford steel
When your victims wield
Only staves and pikes?

We are not fooled that god
Has chosen your odd
Circular arguments
In place of a sacrament
For you to murmur and repeat.
It is a kind of defeat
For you to worship Mars
A pagan god, instead
Of the one you said
You chose above all others
Worshiping above all others,
Then make excuses
To kill your brothers
And sisters of another shore.
We might have agreed once
Long ago, but no more.

Brent Kincaid

(Image from: http://www.sanramon.ca.gov)