I've seen fire and I've seen rain 2 (Part 1)

It occurred on the evening before Waterloo,
As troops were lined up on parade.
And sergeant inspecting 'em, he were a terror,
Of whom every man were afraid.

All excepting one man, he were in’t front rank,
A man by t’name of Sam Small.
And he and t’sergeant were both daggers drawn,
They thought nowt of each other at all.

As sergeant walked past he was swinging his arms,
And he happened to brush against Sam.
And knocking t’musket clean out of ‘is hand,
It fell t’ground wi’ a slam.

“Pick it up!” said sergeant, abrupt like, but cool.
But Sam wi’ a shake of 'is ‘ead.
Said "Seeing as tha knocked it out of my hand,
P’rhaps tha’ll pick t’ thing up instead.

Sam, Sam, pick up tha musket!
The sergeant exclaimed with a roar.
Sam said tha’ knocked it down reasonin’
Tha’ll pick it up, or it stays, where t’is on the floor.

My, my
At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender
Oh, yeah
And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way
The history book on the shelf
Is always repeating itself
Waterloo
I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo
Promise to love you forever more
Waterloo
Couldn’t escape if I wanted to
Waterloo
Knowing my fate is to be with you
Wa-Wa-Wa-Wa-Waterloo
Finally facing my Waterloo

The troops seeked shelter behind the rocks, the rocks
Now Custer was left on his own driving his men into Hell

He realized this was his final day, the final day of his life
No other way, no other way than to die
A foolish game, a game he could not survive
This was Custer’s last stand at the battle of Little Big Horn

We fired our guns 'til the barrels melted down
Then we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round
We filled his head with cannon balls and powdered his behind
And when we touched the powder off the 'gator lost his mind

Goddamn, well, I declare
Have you seen the like?
Their walls are built of cannon balls,
Their motto is “Don’t Tread on Me.”
Come hear Uncle John’s Band
Playing to the tide.

Uncle John’s Band – The Grateful Dead — covered in the '90s by Jimmy Buffett

-“BB”-

So be it
Threaten no more
To secure peace is to prepare for war
So be it
Settle the score
Touch me again for the words that you will hear evermore
Don’t tread on me

I said, war, huh (good God, y’all)
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing, just say it again
War (whoa), huh (oh Lord)
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing, listen to me

Forward he cried from the rear
And the front rank died
And the general sat
And the lines on the map
Moved from side to side

Generals gathered in their masses
Just like witches at black masses
Evil minds that plot destruction
Sorcerer of death’s construction

In the fields, the bodies burning
As the war machine keeps turning
Death and hatred to mankind
Poisoning their brainwashed minds
Oh lord, yeah!

Generals and Majors ah ah
They’re never too far
Away from men who made the grade
Out in a world of their own
They’ll never come down
Until the battle’s lost or made, whoa

Generals and Majors always
Seem so unhappy 'less they got a war

I am the very model of a modern major-general,
I’ve information vegetable, animal and mineral,
I know the kings of England and I quote the fights historical,
From Marathon to Waterloo in order categorical.

I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,
I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical,
About binomial theorem, I’m teeming with a lot o’ news –
With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.

I’m very good at integral and differential calculus,
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous,
In short, in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern major-general.

I know our mythic history, King Arthur’s and Sir Caradoc’s,
I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for paradox,
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus,
In conics, I can floor peculiarities parabolous.

I can tell undoubted Rafaels from Gerard Dowes and Zoffanys,
I know the croaking chorus of the Frogs of Aristophanes,
Then I can hum a fugue of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore,
And whistle all the airs to that infernal nonsense Pinafore;

Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform
And tell you every detail of Caractacus’ uniform.
In short, in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern major-general.

In fact, when I know what is meant by “mamelon” and “ravelin”,
When I can tell at sight a Mauser* rifle from a javelin,
When such affairs as sorties and surprises I’m more wary at,
And when I know precisely what is meant by “Commissariat” –

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery,
When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery,
In short, when I’ve a smattering of elemental strategy,
You’ll say a better major-general has never sat agee.

For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century.
But still, in matters vegetable, animal and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern major-general.

Jet, Jet, Jet
Was your father as bold as the sergeant major?
Well how come he told you that you were hardly old enough yet?
And Jet, I thought the major was a lady suffragette

It was dark all around
There was frost in the ground
When the tigers broke free
And no one survived
From the Royal Fusiliers Company Z

They were all left behind
Most of them dead
The rest of them dying
And that’s how the High Command
Took my daddy from me

[PP, mind the length else the mods might shut us down, tho that one I think is in the public domain…]

Wait until the war is over
And we’re both a little older
The unknown soldier
Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Unborn living, living, dead
Bullet strikes the helmet’s head
And it’s all over
For the unknown soldier

I am just an aging drummer boy
And in the wars I used to play
And I’ve called a tune
To many a torture session
Now they say I am a war criminal
And I’m fading away
Father, please hear my confession

[Yes, I made sure that Gilbert & Sullivan’s work was in Public Domain first.]

For I stole California from the Mexican land
Fought in the bloody Civil War
Yes, I even killed my brothers
And so many others
But I ain’t a-marching anymore

Hit the road Jack and don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more
Hit the road Jack and don’t you come back no more
What you say?

And here I go again on my own
Going down the only road I’ve ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
And I’ve made up my mind
I ain’t wasting no more time

My shoes are wearing out from walking down this same highway
I don’t see nothing new but I feel a lot of change
And I get the strangest feeling
As I’m heading for the light

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moon
A highwayman came riding
Riding, riding
A highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door