Some mokes not sworn, they claim of fag,
Oh, they're read rights and shooed.
Then Uncle Sam came mail of great grief,
Ooh, appoint and command, you're screwed, word.

It cain't be, it cain't be, I ain't no war monger one, son.
It cain't be, it cain't be, I'll be a force of jet gun, yo.
Yeah!

Go folks air-borne, boot camp at Lackland.
Word, don't make shoots themselves, oh!
So when the draft man came to my door,
Word, my blouse looked that of Greyhound scale.

It's six weeks, just six weeks, I'll be a force of jet gun, yo,
In six weeks, in six weeks, I 'came a wing-a-nut one, oh!

Some folks had beared it; Scarred, mangled guys,
Ohh, You send our brass off to war? word!
So glad I asked them, for the chance to live,
Ooh, Peace turns a cancer, war! war! war!, yo!

So paint me, paint me, I 'came a military one, son.
It cain't be, it cain't be, I won draft lottery lost-won!
Ain't no be, ain't no be, I ain't no army of one, no no no,
It's plain see, it's plain see, I am a force of jet gun, yo yo yo.