The Bag-Daddy Rag
 
by Stephen Fournier

 
Hey, Dad, I'm off to Iraq,
Don't know when I'm coming back.
I'm flying over on a big aeroplane.
Got some shells for my gun.
Gonna have me some fun,
Just a-huntin' down old Sadam Hussein.
And all the Arabs will cheer,
When we bring back the Emir.
They'll all be kissing the American flag.
They're gonna treat us so royal,
When they get back their oil,
They'll be singing the bag-daddy rag.

I'll get a rug from Tehran
And fly it off to Amman
And maybe learn a few Arabian words.
Wanna have me a whirl
With a Yemeni girl
Or maybe curl up with a couple of Kurds.
Hey, Mister Kuwaiti Sheik,
Your wives all look mighty sleek.
So lend me two to line my old sleeping bag.
Allah knows you can spare 'em.
You got a whole harem,
And they're doing the bag-daddy rag.

I won a ten-dollar bet.
I climbed a huge minaret
To chant a funny old American song.
Now I'm in the stockade,
And I ain't getting paid,
Just for singing "Caissons Rolling Along."
The priest was madder than heck.
He dragged me down by the neck.
I tried to tell him it was only a gag.
That's the last time I pull
Another joke on a mullah.
They don't go for that bag-daddy rag.

Dad, I ain't feeling so well.
The days are hotter than Hell.
The nights are cold and dark and lonely and bleak.
Oh, Mom, and as for the chow,
Well, I'll tell you right now:
It's just the same thing every day of the week.
And these Arabian guys,
They've got this look in their eyes,
Like they were just about to start in to brag
About romancing the ladies
In the Tigris-Euphrates.
While they whistle that bag-daddy rag.

Well, Dad, I guess we're all done.
They wouldn't fight so we won.
We shot 'em down while they were running away.
It wasn't much of a war.
We could have killed a lot more
For all the folks back in the U. S. of A.
We're really sick of Iraq.
You know we want to get back.
This desert's nothing but a God-awful drag.
So I'm stackin' my swag,
And I'm packin' my bag, Dad,
And I'm quittin' that bag-daddy rag.