| We act on animal instinct
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| Survival of the primitive
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| Invade your camp, then set up a perimeter
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| Interrogate the prisoner, ransack your residence
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| Order from the President to document this evidence
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| Company commander, this is my version of capital
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| Punishment scars from carving out shards of shrapnel
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| Attacking with passion, the movement of murderous intimate
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| In hand to hand combat or atomic bombs that disintegrate
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| Let me reiterate, in a state of neurosis
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| A license to kill, plus an expert with explosives
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| Assult forces, feel the shell shock
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| Section eight sounds great, give me a cell block
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| As sure as hells hot, I’d rather go there
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| Crouched down, jungle fatigue, guerrilla warfare
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| On watch, think about the bullets I’ve dodged
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| Light a smoke and post it up for the night in camoflage
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| «Military Minded» scratch
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| I make my face stick with paint stick
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| Todays the dawn of the infected insect
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| Bees, butterflies, beetles, and panzer dragons
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| There’s danger of ganzes (???) in roaming in my squadron
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| We hate them all, that’s why we made the eight ball
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| The milk and water tastes like typhoid and protocall
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| Sleep deprivation, magic carpet bombing ride
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| Talking to my gas mask, walking down the thin red line
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| You’re currently tuned in to NBC
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| The only channel that you get is from my M-16
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| Unlace my boots and place my troops
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| I’m more terrified of mosquitoes than I am of the paratroops
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| I’m in the shitbox, reading Alfred Hitchcock
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| Five minutes later I’m bleeding out my snot box
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| I see the witch doc, he says it’s rice grains
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| Dropped from airplanes, sprayed with anthrax
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| Operation Peking, take the ground back
|
| It’s found in brown rats
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| And in the toilet paper issued in your ruck sack
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| Agent N, Agent X, before fade to black
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| Camoflage
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| «Military Minded» scratch |