They'll make a man of you, my son.
You'll wear the green beret
And answer ev'ry question with a gun.
You'll wear a uniform, a signet on your sleeve.
You'll have a power that you never would believe.
And any problem that you meet,
You'll put a bullet through its head
Till ev'rything that moves is dead.

When your time's up and you've returned,
They'll take your gun away
But not the tricks you've learned.
You'll wear a uniform, the neat civilian brown,
Your hair the proper cut, the proper part of town,
And any problem that you meet,
You'll stamp it bloody with your feet,
Or roll it in barbed wire and get it off the street.

And any idea that you cannot comprehend,
You'll put the handcuffs on and that will be the end,
And anything that grows you'll cover with cement.
They'll make a man of you, my son.

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