My cousin is in Colombia
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