Parthur - Call

Call to all men, to gather arms instead of wood on this fateful day
Call to all souls, to hide your children in the place you would normally pray
Call to all friends, to look suspiciously at others who will not obey
Call to all Kings, to use religion as a sword on the necks of your prey
Sword on the necks of your prey
Sword on the next of your prey

It is time to call your markers
It is time to grease the palms
It is time does save your families
It is time to drop the bombs

You must listen to the new boss
You must never speak your mind
You must gather your belongings
You must give me more this time
You must call me Lord this time
Lord wants much, much more this time

Call to all boys, to face the fact that you may not reach a tender age
Call to all girls, to hide the fact that you are young on this violent day
Call to all mom's, to not expect others to show you compassion ways
Call to all dad's, to sharpen anything that passes for lance or a blade
Passes for lance or a blade
Passes for lance or a blade

It is time to call your markers
It is time to grease the palms
It is time does save your families
It is time to drop the bombs

You will share your wife with others
You will smile when feel like frown
You will open up your purse string
You will give me all your coin
You will give me your wife's loin
Lord knows, all young loins should join

Call to all men, to gather arms instead of wood on this fateful day

Written by:
Patrick Bossard

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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