Well the bombs went up and the Crunch came down
In the middle of the Pennsic War
It left us stranded in Cooper's Field,
Ten thousand souls or more.
We had nothing with us but what we'd brought:
Our cars and camping gear,
And our arms and armor, tools and skills
We'd worked on all that year.
Chorus (after every verse):
So, dress your ranks! Lift your pikes!
Tight as the teeth of a comb!
Rattling, clanking, down the road,
The war is going home!
So a truce was called and a council held
And we argued all that night.
Then we all set off in a caravan
By the early morning light.
We had tipped our arrows and pikes with steel,
And were armored, every one.
Our swords and bows hung ready to hand,
For the time of rattan was done.
The very first town that we came to,
We stopped for fuel and food.
The gasman said he had none to sell;
The cops were worse than rude.
They drew their guns. We drew our bows.
They fired. We won the day
For their backup radios all were dead
And shortly so were they.
The very next town that we came to
They had no fuel at all.
The garage man said he could change our cars
To run on alcohol.
But five thousand cars would take as long
As to grow a crop of grain.
So, we made a deal and moved on out
In a horse drawn wagon train.
The very third town that we came to,
The rulers had gone mad.
The cops tried to enslave us all
And steal what all we had.
Our armor proved half bullet proof,
Our weapons worked as well.
The townsfolk afterwards thanked us all
For freeing them from Hell.
So, town by town, we worked our way
Just to take our people home.
The legends that we left behind,
It seemed would rival Rome.
For now the folk come seeking us
To take their troubles on.
To be their teachers and champions
In a world where law is gone.
How can we not take up the steel,
For to serve our people's need?
How can we leave our land to fall
To any bandit's greed?
We have the skills to save our folk
From whatever evil thrives,
Admit the truth: this is the chance
We've hoped for all our lives!
Final Chorus:
So, dress your ranks! Lift your pikes!
Tight as the teeth of a comb!
Rattling, clanking, down the road,
Dressed in leather and steel and woad,
All too aware of history's load,
The war is going home.
The war is coming home!