Art of War

The bedsheets were dirty, so we just rolled on the floor.
Rested my chin on her chest and confessed I’m afraid of the war.
She said, Baby, it’s okay if you ain’t never fired your gun before,
because mama’s gonna teach you all about the art of war.
I took off my clothes, and I blushed when she let out a laugh.
She said, «With a body like that you’d be exempt from the government draft.
She said, Baby it’s okay if you ain’t never killed another man,
because mama’s gonna teach you and help you to understand.
When you’re out in the desert eye-to-eye with your enemy,
don’t you kill him for your god or your country.
Shoot him down so you can hurry home to me,
because Mama wants to see you hang a star upon the Christmas tree.
When the warfare was over the clover she sent was still pressed
between the pages of a letter she wrote that I kept in my vest.
It said, Baby, it’s okay if you dream about me night and day.
You’ll be home in December. Just remember what your mama said.
When you’re out in the desert eye-to-eye with your enemy,
don’t you kill him for your god or your country.
Shoot him down so you can hurry home to me,
because Mama wants to see you hang a star upon the Christmas…
Mama wants to kiss you underneath the Christmas mistle…
Mama wants to feel you wrap your tinsel ‘round her Christmas tree.