Protestsong du jour: Buy a gun for your son / Koop een geweer

Met een niet al te vriendelijk hoofdgebaar naar The battle hymn of the Republic (Glory glory hallelujah) brengt Tom Paxton zijn lied ten gehore aan de televisionaire keukentafel van Pete Seeger. 1965.

Hallelujah, Dads and Mommies,
Cowboys, Rebels, Yanks and Commies
Buy yourselves some real red blooded fun.
If you want to make the grade,
You’ve got to have a hand grenade,
And a fully automatic G.I. Gun.

[refr:] Buy a gun for your son right away, Sir
Shake his hand like a man and let him play, Sir.
Let his little mind expand, Place a weapon in his hand,
For the skills he learns today will someday pay, Sir.

Pound that kid into submission
‘Till he’s mastered Nuclear Fission
Buy him plastic warheads by the score,
Once he’s got the taste of blood,
He’s gonna sneak up on his buddies
Starting his own thermo-nuclear war.


Buy him khakis and fatigues,
And sign him up in little leagues,
Give him calisthenics as a rule.
Once you’ve banished fear and dread,
Then pat his seven year-old head,
And send him off to military school.


Once he’s grown to be a man,
He might get tired of blasting Granny,
Then you’ll see a crisis coming on.
Don’t get worried, don’t get nervous.
Send that kid into the service,
Let him rise into the Pentagon.

At the Pentagon he’ll rise.
The President he will advise,
His reputation growing all the while.
With your picture on the wall,
He’ll get that long-awaited call,
And press the firing buttons with a smile.


Toegegeven, ik kwam dit nummer op het spoor via mijn pasgevonden folkhelden Miek en Roel (hier nog met Roland), die dit vertaald en gecoverd hebben in 1967. Zij hadden een speciale voorkeur voor het werk van Tom Paxton.