by Michael Clancy
I went to Viet Nam and your father did not,
he went to Canada where it wasn’t so hot
He was a coward but he said he was not.
Conscientious he said as he smoked his pot.
He marched in protest his banner high.
Spewing high ideals that touched the sky.
Protesting with energy that seemed to be endless,
In safe pursuits he seemed quite relentless.
Now that another Vietnam draws near,
your father has no reason to fear.
If his ideals were really true,
he’ll get out again and protest anew.
His protesting days are over I bet,
It’s not his blood that might be let.
Yesterday he feared that he might bleed,
now he’s too busy wrapped up in his greed.
The inescapable conclusion that you can’t mock,
you were drawn from coward’s stock.