In the corner - not a vision - but
a sign for coming days,
Stand a box of ammunition and a rifle
in green baize.
And in this the living present, let
the word go through the land.
Every tradesman, clerk and peasant
should have these two things at hand.
No - no ranting song is needed,
and no meeting, flag or fuss -
In the future, still unheeded, shall
the spirit come to us;
Without feathers, drum or riot on
the day that is to be,
We shall march down, very quiet,
to our stations by the sea.
While the bitter parties stifle every
voice that warns of war,
Every man should have a rifle and
have cartridges in store.
Do you want my gun, or do you want my life?
Do you want my gun, or do you want my wife?
Do you want my gun, or do you want my store?
Do you want just my gun, or much, much more?
What is it you really want, I must ask myself,
For it is one of the few freedoms we have left.
Maybe it's something more political you seek,
but can't accomplish unless we become weak.
I think of Hitler, Lenin, Stalin and the rest,
Fooling the people that they knew best.
They traded their arms for hoes and staves,
They traded their freedom and ended up slaves.
When people can no longer defend their rights,
Their days become filled with sleepless nights,
And soon their fears become much, much more,
When the Secret Police knock at their door.
They took them from their family, and their home,
And without trial they locked them up alone.
No visitors, no place they could appeal,
For they were politically incorrect to party zeal.
Today the majority of us are not "politically correct".
And what do the liberals want us to put in check?
That's right, our guns, they want us to turn them in.
As long as we have guns socialism can not win!
Each day this Howard thing denies our rights,
As he puts God loving people in his sights.
I will keep my gun, I'll use it if I must,
To defend my right to say In God I Trust!!
The foundation of this land of ours,
Is now being threatened, and it may only be hours,
Until God is completely removed from every part,
And this country is stripped of it's very heart!
Today freedom is no longer a "right",
It's a battleground for which we must fight.
So if you ask me for my gun...the answer is... NO!
Try to take it and if there is a Hell, you'll know.
Author... ???????????
For the Soldier
Think of the shooter, the man with his guns,
Then think of the mother, who gave up her sons.
Give thought to the pollies who sent them away
To bury life's dreams in far foreign clay.
Dwell with the Anzacs, where red poppies grow,
Or Aussies that lie where desert winds blow.
True marksmen, they kept foes from our shores,
Knowing this task to be part of their chores.
No fuss did they make, no vengeance swear,
So many good mates we've buried back there,
Who sleep where we left them, some never to lie
'Neath tragic white crosses, where jungle birds fly.
Think then of the Pollie, think too of his racket,
Asking trust of his people (in bullet-proof jacket!).
As he postures and tries to capture our trust,
Votes of the shooters will go where they must.
Pte Fred Ward, 2/7 Battalion
Proudly with Walker's Mob and the
Kiwis in Greece and Crete
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