Tr De C

Of all the treasure in our chest

We love the golden god of war the best

Look, look at that little clown

Here, look through the binoculars

Someone burned his schoolhouse down

And he's blinking in the sun

He's drying something in the sun

Ha! It's an old tea bag!

Now he rolls it up

Look! He made a cigarette

But he's not gonna smoke it yet

Maybe he's gonna sell it

How much d'you think he'll get?

A slice of ham = a long goodbye = 3 days of peace

A bar of soap = a can of oil = 10 years of debt

A pinch of salt = a week of news = 4 double-A's

A plastic bag = a place to hide = one sucker bet

I got what you want

You got what I need

Of all the sterling men of steel

We crave the one who'll teach us not to feel

Look at the guy selling beer

Where the hell did he get it from?

He's the King of the Hill

He's the bug that survives the bomb

See the smirk on his greasy face

Handing a bottle to the mortal foe

It's not the time to kill

Not that he forgets . . .

As he takes a crumpled bill

And thinks this is better yet

A pot for the rain = a pair of shoes = 2 hand grenades

A spade for the grave = four lovely eggs = 3 cigarettes

A stick of gum = some wood for a fire = 2 table legs

A cup of rice = a pint of blood = 1 pound of flesh

Line up to buy here

Line up to die there

Look, look through that window

Looks like your sister there

In a Chetnik's bed

Look, there on the table

Looks like she did it for a loaf of bread

Shit! She's got a knife!

And he's snoring like a pig

Is he worth more alive or dead?

How much for his boots?

How much for his head?

Though all the days and all the times

We count the coin and stash away the crimes