Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Munition Maker , by - Country Joe McDonald. Song from the album War War War Live, in the genre Release date: 29.10.2007
Record label: Rag Baby
Song language: English
The Munition Maker |
| I am the Cannon king, behold! |
| I perish on a throne of gold |
| With forest far and turret high |
| Renowned and rajah-rich am I |
| My father was and his before |
| With wealth we owe to war on war; |
| But let no potentate be proud |
| There are no pockets in a shroud |
| By nature I am mild and kind |
| To gentleness and truth inclined; |
| And though the pheasants over-run |
| My woods, I will not touch a gun |
| Yet while each monster that I forge |
| Thunders destruction from its gorge |
| Death’s whisper is, I vow, more loud |
| There are no pockets in a shroud |
| My time is short, my ships at sea |
| Already seem like ghosts to me |
| My millions mock me, I am poor |
| As any beggar at my door |
| My vast dominion I resign |
| Six feet of earth to claim as mine |
| Brooding with shoulders bid bitter-bowed |
| There are no pockets in a shroud |
| Dear God, let me purge pure my heart |
| And be of Heaven’s hope a part! |
| Flinging my fortune’s foul increase |
| To fight for pity, love and peace |
| Oh that I could with healing fare |
| And pledged to poverty and prayer |
| Cry high above the cringing crowd |
| «Ye fools! |
| Be not by Mammon cowed |
| There are no pockets in a shroud.» |