Antiwar Music

Gimme an F,
Gimme a U,
Gimme a C,
Gimme a K,
What's that spell?
What's that spell?
What's that spell?
What's that spell?
What's that spell?
Yeah, c'mon on all you big strong men
Uncle Sam needs your help again
He's got himself in a terrible jam
Way down yonder in Vietnam
So put down your books and pick up a gun
We're gonna have a whole lot of fun

And it's 1, 2, 3,
what're we fighting for?
Don't ask me, I don't give a damn
Next stop is vietnam
And it's 5, 6, 7, open up the pearly gates
Well there ain't no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we're all gonna die
Well c'mon on Wall Street
Don't be slow
Why this is war a-go-go
There's plenty good money to be made
By supplin' the Army with the tools of the trade
Just hope and pray that if we drop the bomb
They drop it on-the Vietcong

And it's 1, 2, 3, what're we fighting for?
Don't ask me, I don't give a damn
Next stop is vietnam
And it's 5, 6, 7, open
up the pearly gates
Well there ain't no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we're all gonna die

Well c'mon generals, let's move fast
Your big chance has come at last
Gotta go out and get those Reds
The only good Commie is one who's dead
And you know that peace can only be won
When we've blown 'em all to kingdom come
And it's 1, 2, 3,
what're we fighting for?
Don't ask me, I don't give a damn
Next stop is vietnam
And it's 5, 6, 7, open
up the pearly gates
Well there ain't no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we're all gonna die
listen people, i dont know how
you ever expect to stop the war
if you cant sing no better then that theres about 300,000
of you fuckers out there
I want you to start singing, come on
And it's 1, 2, 3,
what're we fighting for?
Don't ask me, I don't give a damn
Next stop is vietnam
And it's 5, 6, 7, open
up the pearly gates
Well there ain't no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we're all gonna die
Well c'mon mothers throughout this land
Pack your boys off to Vietnam
C'mon pops, don't hesitate
Send 'em off before it's too late
Be the first one on your block to
have your boy come home in a box
And it's 1, 2, 3, what're we fighting for? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. Next stop is vietnam
And it's 5, 6, 7, open
up the pearly gates
Well there ain't no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we're all gonna die

Stephen Stills

There's something happening here What it is ain't exactly clear There's a man with a gun over there A-telling me I got to beware

I think it's time we stop Children, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down

There's battle lines being drawn Nobody's right if everybody's wrong Young people speaking their minds Are getting so much resistance from behind

Time we stop Hey, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down

What a field-day for the heat A thousand people in the street Singing songs and a-carrying signs Mostly say hooray for our side

It's time we stop Hey, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down

Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you're always afraid Step out of line, the man come and take you away

We better stop Hey, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down We better stop Hey, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down We better stop now What's that sound? Everybody look what's going down We better stop Children, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down

One, two
One, two, three

Yeah, inslumnational, underground
Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (woo)
Like a million elephants or silverback orangutans
You can't stop a train
Who want some? Don't come unprepared
I'll be there, but when I leave there Better be a household name
Weather man tellin' us it ain't gon' rain
So now we sittin' in a drop-top, soakin' wet
In a silk suit, tryin' not to sweat
Hit somersaults without the net
But this'll be the year that we won't forget
1-9-9-9, Anno Domini, anything goes, be whatchu wanna be
Long as you know consequences are given for livin'
The fence is too high to jump in jail Too low to dig, I might just touch hell, hot
Get a life, now they on sale
Then I might cast you a spell
Look at what came in the mail
A scale and some Arm & Hammer
Soul-gold grill and a baby mama
Black Cadillac and a pack of Pampers
Stack of question with no answers
Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS
Make a removed wanna stay on tour for days
Get back home, things are wrong
Well not really, it was bad all along
Before you left adds up to a ball of power
Thoughts at a thousands miles per hour
Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe
Believe there's always mo', ow

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad (yeah, yeah)
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad (yeah, uh)
Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah (ha, ha, ha)
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad

Uno, dos, tres, it's on
Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?
Like that there Boi and will still stay street
Big things happen every time we meet
Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin' to geek
Outkast bumpin' up and down the street
Slam back, Cadillac, 'bout five removed deep
Seventy-five emcee's freestylin' to the beat
'Cause we get krunk, stay drunk, at the club
Should have bought an ounce, but you copped a dub
Should have held back, but you throwed the punch
'Spose to meet your girl but you packed a lunch
No D to the U to the G for you
Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo
Got a little baby girl, four year, Jordan
Never turn my back on my kids for them Should have hit it, quit it, rag-top
Before you re-up, get a laptop
Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals
Make a fat diamond out of dusty coals
Record number four, but we on a roll Hold up, slow up, stop, control
Like Janet, Planet, Stankonia's on ya
Movin' like Floyd, comin' straight to Florida
Lock all your windows, then block the corridors
Pullin' off my belt 'cause a whipping's in order Like a three-piece fish before I cut your daughter
Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border
Pitty-pat rappers tryin' to get the five I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive
When you come to ATL, boy, you betta not hide
'Cause the Dungeon Family gon' ride, ha

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad (yeah)
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad (uh, yeah)
Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad (y'all heard me, yeah)
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top (one, two, three, let's go)

Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival

Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Fuck off to the Falklands for your sea-faring fun
Big man's jerk off dreamland, looking down the barrel of a gun
Friggin' in the riggin' another imperialist farce
Another page of British history to wipe the national arse
The royals donated Prince Andrew as a show of their support
Was it just luck the only ship that wasn't struck was the one on which he fought?
Three cheers for good old Andy, let's take a pic for his mum
And stick it up the royal, stick it up the royal, stick it up the royal album
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Onward Thatcher's soldiers, it's your job to fight...
""And, you know, I don't really give a toss if the cause is wrong or right
My political neck means more to me than the lives of a thousand men
If I felt it might be of use to me I'd do it all over again
The Falklands was really a coverup job to obscured the mistakes I've made
And you know I think gamble I took could certainly be said to have paid
With unemployment at an all-time high and the country falling apart
I, Winston Thatcher, reign supreme in this great nations' heart.""
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
While the men who fought her battles are still expected to suffer
Thatcher proves in parliament that she's just a fucking nutter
The iron lady's proved her metal, has struck with her fist of steel
Has proved that a heart that is made out of lead is a heart that doesn't feel
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Now Thatcher says... ""Oh raunchy Ron, we've fought our war
Now it's your turn to prove yourself in El Salvador
I've employed Micheal Heseltine to deal with P.R
He's an absolute prick, but a media star
He'll advocate the wisdom of our cruise missile plan
Then at last I'll have a penis just like every other man
They can call it penis envy, but they'll pay the price for it...
But the peasants are hungry Mags, ""Let them eat shit""
Sheep farming in the Falklands, re-arming in the fucklands
Fucking sheep in the homelands, her majesty's forces are coming
Who the fuck cares, we're all having fun?
Mums and dads happy as their kids play with guns
The media loved it, when all's said and done...
""Britain's bulldog's off the leash"" said the Sun
As the Argies and Brits got crippled or died
The bulldog turned around and crapped in our eyes
Brit wit, hypocrite, don't you yet realise
You're not playing with toys, you're playing with lives...
You piss straight up in your self-righteous rage
Wilfs, goms and gimps in the nuclear age
Four minute warning, what a shock Well balls to you rocket cock
You're old and you're ill and you're soon going to die
You've got nothing to lose if you fill up the skies
You'd take us all with you, yeah, it's tough at the top
You slop bucket, shit filled, puss ridden, death pimp snot..YAH FUCK

I′ve been walking through your streets
Where all your money's earning
Where all your buildings crying
And clueless neckties working
Revolving fake lawn houses
Housing all your fears
Desensitized by TV
Overbearing advertising

God of consumers
And all your crooked pictures looking good
Mirrors filtering information through the public eye
Designed for profiteering
Your neighbor, what a guy

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom
Every time you drop the bomb
You kill the god your child has born
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom

Modern globalization
Coupled with condemnations
Unnecessary death
Matador corporations
Puppeting your frustrations with a blinded flag
Manufacturing consent is the name of the game
The bottom line is money nobody gives a fuck
Four thousand hungry children
Leave us per hour from starvation
While billions are spent on bombs
Creating death showers

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom
Every time you drop the bomb
You kill the god your child has born
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom
Why must we kill our own kind?
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom
Every time you drop the bomb
You kill the god your child has born
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom
Every time you drop the bomb

looks inside

The Exploited

Too many puppies are being shot in the dark
Too many puppies are trained not to bark
At the sight of blood that must be spilled so that we may maintain our oil fields
Too many puppies
Too many puppies
Too many puppies are taught to heal
Too many puppies are trained to kill
On the command of men wearing money belts that buy mistresses sleek animal pelts
Too many puppies
Too many puppies
Too many pup-pup-pup-pup-pup-pup-puppies
Too many puppies
Peanut sat on a railroad track
His heart was all a flutter
Along came the train
Toot, toot, peanut butter
Too many puppies with guns in their hands
Too many puppies in foreign lands
Are dressed up sharp in suits of green and placed upon the war machine
Too many puppies are just like me
Too many puppies are afraid to see
The visions of the past brought to life again
Too many puppies, too many dead men

https://open.spotify.com/track/0EYOdF5FCkgOJJla8DI2Md

Written as a poem by John McCrae during the Great War, In Flanders Fields is the original reason why the poppy became one of the international symbols of anti-war sentiment.
McCrae's poem returned from battlefield, McCrae - as so many others - did not.

There have been different songs created based on the poem, but this version and rendition is by far my favorite.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The song is a unique cooperation of German songwriters Reinhard Mey, Klaus Hoffmann, Heinz Rudolf Kunze und Hans Scheibner. Made in 1990 during the German reunification and in the wake of the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the song provides 4 different viewpoints of 4 different Soldiers: An American GI in a Western German Military base, a Bundeswehr conscript, an Eastern-German NVA Gefreiter and a Soviet/Armenian tank operator stationed in a German garrison. They all just want to go home.

While not strictly anti-war but rather anti-militarism, I think it's still a good fit here.

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus - All Soldiers want to go home

In K-Town, tief in Western-Germany,
Zwischen Automarkt und Straßenstrich, in der Prairie
Steht Gabys Pizza-Palace, und da beißt der GI
Frank Kowalski aus Fort-Worth in seine Pizza-Pie.
Und er trinkt, bis ihm der Kopf auf die Theke fällt
In K-Town, Western-Germany, am Ende der Welt.
In Texas ham sie zwei Uhr Nachmittag.
Wie hoch im Westen jetzt der Weizen stehen mag?
Und über Gabys Pizza-Palace steht der bleiche Pfälzer Mond,
Und Kowalski ist jetzt endlich total zu und stoned.
„Fuck the Army“ lallt er schwankend und fällt dabei
Glatt auf den Knüppel der Militärpolizei.

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus.
Sie wolln die Uniform nicht mehr,
Den Stahlhelm und das Schießgewehr
Und auch nicht in den Kampf hinaus.
Soldaten wolln nur eins: Sie wolln nach Haus!

Bei Potsdam in der russischen Garnison
Streicht Igor in marxistischer Tradition
Die Kasernenmauer an in lebensfrohem Grau.
Die Farbe platzt gleich wieder ab, na klar, das weiß er genau.
Igor fährt Panzer, und wenn er nun den Pinsel schwingt,
Dann, weil sein Schrotthaufen in Friedenszeiten nie anspringt.
Vielleicht kommt das Ersatzteil eines Tags mit der Bahn
An seinem Dorf vorbei im fernen Eriwan.
Da sitzen sie jetzt hinterm Ofen, und er streicht hier allein,
Und die Mütze ist so groß und seine Jacke so klein,
Und das Brudervolk lacht über ihn hinter der Hand,
Und ihm geht‘s wie dem Genossen einst am Wolgastrand!

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus.
Sie wolln die Uniform nicht mehr,
Den Stahlhelm und das Schießgewehr
Und auch nicht in den Kampf hinaus.
Soldaten wolln nur eins: Sie wolln nach Haus!

An der Grenze, die durch Deutschland und Deutschland geht,
Steht der NVA-Gefreite Jochen M. und steht.
Und da steht er im Regen, und er steht aufm Schlauch,
Und er steht sich die Beine in den volkseignen Bauch.
Und jetzt, wo hier keiner mehr in den Westen abhaut,
Von drüben keiner kommt und hier den Sozialismus klaut,
Wo kein Hund mehr nach der Grenze bellt, vergisst der Soldat
Ab und zu schon mal den Arbeiter- und Bauernstaat.
Dafür kommt ihm dann die junge Brigadeführerin
Aus der LPG 9. November in den Sinn.
Und er träumt sich mit ihr an den schönsten Platz der Welt:
In eine Datsche am Stadtrand von Bitterfeld.

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus.
Sie wolln die Uniform nicht mehr,
Den Stahlhelm und das Schießgewehr
Und auch nicht in den Kampf hinaus.
Soldaten wolln nur eins: Sie wolln nach Haus!

19 Jahre alt ist Hinnerk Harms aus Leer.
Er hat anderthalb Jahre Bi-ba-bundeswehr.
Und die sind für ihn wie anderthalb Jahre Knast.
Es ist bitter zu wissen, was er draußen verpasst!
Während er hier einen streng geheimen Schlagbaum bewacht
Wird da draußen getanzt und geliebt und gelacht.
Dafür lernt er endlich, wie man in die Pfütze fällt,
Wie man Männchen macht und Händchen an die Mütze hält.
Und Hinnerk Harms aus Leer, Ostfriesland, ist total frustriert,
„Mann, das nervt zu spürn, wie man hier seine Zeit verliert!“
Vielleicht in seinem ganzen Leben die beste Zeit
Für nichts und wieder nichts und Leer, Ostfriesland, ist weit!

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus.
Sie wolln die Uniform nicht mehr,
Den Stahlhelm und das Schießgewehr
Und auch nicht in den Kampf hinaus.
Soldaten wolln nur eins: Sie wolln nach Haus!

Der Präsident will auf dem roten Teppich gehn,
Der Kriegsminister eines Tages sein Denkmal sehn,
Der Rüstungsbonze will, dass alle Räder rolln,
Und jeder von den dreien will, dass die Soldaten das wolln.
Aber die das nicht mehr wollen, werden jeden Tag mehr,
Und die Hoffnung, dieser Traum, ist gar nicht so verquer,
Frank Kowalski nimmt den Ghetto-Blaster, setzt sich in Marsch,
Hinnerk Harms schnürt den Persilkarton und sagt: „ …“ sagt er barsch.
Jochen M. eilt in die LPG zu seinem Schatz
Und meldet sich zum freiwilligen Ernteeinsatz.
Igor fällt mit einem Stoßseufzer der Pinsel aus der Hand,
Ja, Freunde, das, das ist der wahre Dienst am Vaterland!

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus.
Sie wolln die Uniform nicht mehr,
Den Stahlhelm und das Schießgewehr
Und auch nicht in den Kampf hinaus.

Alle Soldaten wolln nach Haus,
Am liebsten gleich und schnurstracks gradeaus.
Soldaten sind, man glaubt es nicht,
Aufs Sterben gar nicht so erpicht
Und auch nicht auf das „Feld der Ehre“ aus,
Soldaten wolln nur eins: Sie wolln nach Haus!

The video description says:
In November 1993 I read the following note in the taz (German newspaper):
In the north-Serbian Wojwodina a 2,000-people-village collectively refuses military service / Now the "Spiritual Republic Zitzer" has declared independence...
Thereupon this song evolved, about this almost unbelievable story. It belongs to my song cycle "Peculiar Saints". For this upload of the song I've searched the Internet again and actually found some authentic video recordings from 1992 and added them to the song.

Here are the lyrics:

Teachers bomb children, bakers are firing around wildly.
The neighbours nice boys turn into rapists.
The war devastates the land and the people and no end is in sight.
Only very isolated, very endangered, here and there a ray of hope:

Ref: Such as this Tresnevac, Tresnevac, little village in the north.
Resistance and imagination against the murdering

One morning, the postwoman delivered 200 gray postcards,
from the military office. Horror spread from house to house
"Reserve excercise" was written on them, but they meant "order to kill"
In the evening, crowded together in the village club they were all united by the idea:

To say "No!" together now, "No!" despite all threats.
Continue teaching children, baking bread rolls, driving tractor.
Simply not to obey. Simply not to go to war.
Determined to get through whatever comes, together.

Oh, this Tresnevac, Tresnevac, little village in the north.
Resistance and imagination against the murdering

Ninety-two tanks stood around the vilage, ready to shoot.
But the Tresnevacians remained hard-nosed the whole time.
The pub became their peace camp, the tanks retreated.
Soon the tiny spot declared itself boldly a "Spiritual Republic".

For the connection of all the people who want the peace. Now.
Drew up their own constitution in the pub.
And their coat of arms: Billiard balls for their peaceful model
Their anthem, quietly beginning, the "Bolero" by Ravel

Tresnevac, Tresnevac,...

"The Bolero doesn't stay quiet", the teacher plainly says.
"Even if they isolate us, our dream doesn't die!"
It will infect other, such a dream needs its time.
For now, all TV channels only show the inevitability.

Teachers bombard children, bakers are firing around wildly.
The neighbours nice boys turn into rapists.
The war devastates the land and the people and no end is in sight.
Only very isolated, very endangered, here and there a ray of hope:

Such as this Tresnevac, Tresnevac,...

Lyrics

Lyrics: https://genius.com/Dispatch-the-general-lyrics

Lyrics: https://genius.com/Avenged-sevenfold-critical-acclaim-lyrics

Lyrics: https://genius.com/Sum-41-march-of-the-dogs-lyrics

Lyrics: https://genius.com/Rise-against-hero-of-war-lyrics

Lyrics: https://genius.com/Hacktivist-dogs-of-war-lyrics

Territory" (1993) by Sepultura is a raw critique of land disputes, propaganda, and dehumanization in conflict zones—particularly resonant with the Israel-Palestine struggle. The lyrics expose how ideology weaponizes geography. Over 30 years later, enduring its relevance.

Unknown man
Speaks to the world
Sucking your trust
A trap in every word

War for territory
War for territory

Choice control
Behind propaganda
Poor information
To manage your anger

War for territory
War for territory

Dictators' speech
Blasting off your life
Rule to kill the urge
Dumb assholes' speech

Years of fighting
Teaching my son
To believe in that man
Racist human being
Racist ground will live
Shame and regret
Of the pride
You've once possessed

War for territory
War for territory

Lyrics:

Us and Them
And after all we're only ordinary men
Me and You
God only knows it's not what we would choose to do

‘Forward’, he cried from the rear and the front rank died
And the General sat and the lines on the map
Moved from side to side

Black and Blue
And who knows which is which and who is who
Up and Down
But in the end it's only round and round and round

Haven't you heard it's a battle of words the poster bearer cried
Listen son, said the man with the gun
There's room for you inside.

‘Well, I mean, they're gonna kill ya, so like, if you give 'em a quick sh...short, sharp shock, they don't do it again.
Dig it? I mean he got off light, 'cause I could've given him a thrashin' but I only hit him once.
It's only the difference between right and wrong, innit? I mean good manners don't cost nothing, do they? Eh?’

Down and Out
It can't be helped but there's a lot of it about
With, Without.
And who'll deny it's what the fightings all about

Out of the way, it's a busy day
I've got things on my mind
For want of the price of tea and a slice
The old man died