my cousin is in columbia

hunting down the rebels

over fields of bright and shiny coca



over the jungle floor

one-handing a 32

he says: “bring her down low now, I'm ready to go.”



“I hunt kids in camouflage

rain down bullets in flight, white light,

barefoot boys run for your lives.”



but you can't be nice

you put your gun to their head

and you pull back the pin

and you can't be good



my friend is based in afghanistan

he goes from cave to cave and pulls the trigger

at the first sight of a man



it's total anarchy

shooting tracer bullets at night

a high and holy patrol into poppy fields



but you can't be good

you hold up the bloody knife

and let it shine in the sun

you gotta be everywhere



I'm a guard in guantanamo

I bring the prisoners in

the hoods come off and torture slowly begins



the screams I've overheard

it'd fuck up a weaker man

but I'm cold, I'm so untouchable



and you can't be nice

I got a flak jacket

on my soul with me tonight

and you can't be good