I yank the cord and the growling begins

A puff of smoke and the metal starts to spin

The green soldiers start to charge it

And are cut, chewed, and spit out of it

And in an hours time the job is done

A million dead by the blades of one

But as the hot sun beats down on the field

The green soldiers have begun to yield

And in a week’s time the next fight will begin

And the metal blades will start to spin.