oh i marched to the battle of new orleans
at the end of the early british war
a young land started growing, a young blood started flowing
but i ain't a marching anymore
for i killed my share of indians in a thousand different fights
i was there at the little big horn
i heard many men lying i saw many more dying
and i ain't a marching anymore
it's always the old who lead us to the war
it's always the young who fall
look at all we've won with the sabre and the gun
tell me, was it worth it all?
for i stole california from the mexican lands
and i fought in the bloody civil war.
yes i even killed my brothers and so many others
so i ain't a marching anymore
for i marched to the battles of the german trench
in a war that was bound to end all wars
and i must have killed a million men and now they want me back again
but i ain't a marching anymore.
for i flew the final mission in the japanese skies
and i set off the mighty mushroom roar
when i saw their cities burning, i knew that i was learning
that i ain't a marching anymore
now the labour leader's screaming when they close the missile plants
united fruit screams at the cuban shore
call it peace or call it treason, call it love or call it reason.
but i ain't a marching anymore.