the munition maker - country joe mcdonald lyrics
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.”
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