When he was young he use to play with toy guns He’d say it was for fun but really it was the feel of it He acted silly but Billy loved the appeal of it Though its just plastic his roles got drastic Sound effects would blow he’d black mask it Around his neck would glow that classic Rambo medallion He use to dream of Lambo’s, Italian Mafioso, Commando, battalions He would lead them through the dark of winter He would leave them when his mom had started dinner At the table with his bleeding elbows Even when eating he needed his G.I. Joe’s By his side guarding his pride A soldier or a poet it got harder to decide The fun ends as the evening unravels A young mans ego so fragile A now he’s hitting his teens still drifting in between Wanting to be a writer wanting to be a fighter He’s starting to wonder which was mightier And found one The difference between Martin and Malcolm He couldn’t see it in the outcome They didn't live to see it Now how come Was the thought he saw the ones who fought He saw the ones who got caught in their cross fire His boss fired him and the cause He was reading Che Guevara instead of him parking cars Who writes the laws who enforces them Born to win, born to loose, born again Mortal men with an ego so fragile Reading as the meaning unravels Was it a bullet to the head or the words to the brain That brought about more change It’s been a long time since the toy guns and the acting bigger Active trigger now he a real action figure The military made it harder to decide A soldier and a poet now the poet guards his pride You see his views we see them on the evening news We read the words found hidden in his B.D.U.’s We loose sight with an eye for an eye Were the last words written on the night that he died In a book they gave to his son the day he turned 21 The day he learned of young men who have come to an end Of his father who held his gun but held harder to his pen A martyr born again every time his book was opened And the mind that provoked it Was it the words from his hands or the bullet from a gun That kept a man alive for his son
[00:25.53]When he was young he use to play with toy guns [00:28.30]He’d say it was for fun but really it was the feel of it [00:31.07]He acted silly but Billy loved the appeal of it [00:32.68]Though its just plastic his roles got drastic [00:34.14]Sound effects would blow he’d black mask it [00:38.22]Around his neck would glow that classic Rambo medallion [00:40.09]He use to dream of Lambo’s, Italian Mafioso, Commando, battalions [00:44.37]He would lead them through the dark of winter [00:49.00]He would leave them when his mom had started dinner [00:51.77]At the table with his bleeding elbows [00:53.18]Even when eating he needed his G.I. Joe’s [00:56.56]By his side guarding his pride [00:58.72]A soldier or a poet it got harder to decide [01:02.34]The fun ends as the evening unravels [01:04.78]A young mans ego so fragile [01:26.98]A now he’s hitting his teens still drifting in between [01:29.95]Wanting to be a writer wanting to be a fighter [01:32.37]He’s starting to wonder which was mightier [01:34.94]And found one [01:36.86]The difference between Martin and Malcolm [01:38.82]He couldn’t see it in the outcome [01:40.64]They didn't live to see it [01:42.15]Now how come [01:43.11]Was the thought he saw the ones who fought [01:45.12]He saw the ones who got caught in their cross fire [01:48.14]His boss fired him and the cause [01:50.46]He was reading Che Guevara instead of him parking cars [01:53.28]Who writes the laws who enforces them [01:54.79]Born to win, born to loose, born again [01:58.51]Mortal men with an ego so fragile [02:00.93]Reading as the meaning unravels [02:02.94]Was it a bullet to the head or the words to the brain [02:06.70]That brought about more change [02:49.43]It’s been a long time since the toy guns and the acting bigger [02:52.60]Active trigger now he a real action figure [02:54.92]The military made it harder to decide [02:57.08]A soldier and a poet now the poet guards his pride [02:59.55]You see his views we see them on the evening news [03:02.62]We read the words found hidden in his B.D.U.’s [03:05.40]We loose sight with an eye for an eye [03:07.36]Were the last words written on the night that he died [03:10.83]In a book they gave to his son the day he turned 21 [03:14.61]The day he learned of young men who have come to an end [03:17.93]Of his father who held his gun but held harder to his pen [03:20.50]A martyr born again every time his book was opened [03:22.42]And the mind that provoked it [03:25.29]Was it the words from his hands or the bullet from a gun [03:28.72]That kept a man alive for his son
