How many of you Liberals does it take to win a war?
Well how the hell can we tell? You won't fight one anymore.
You say that you support the troops, but the truth's plain as your face,
You'd pull us from the battle, march us home in full disgrace.
You've no stomach for the fighting, got no mettle, got no pluck;
If you ran this war on terror, we'd be a very well plucked duck.
The wolves of Jihad smell your dread, can smell your craven breath,
And emboldened by the fear they scent, lust for our bloody death.
'But wait,' you protest piously, 'We are fighters for the poor.'
Might we suggest you start to fight, before wolves come through the door?
Do you think they'll still believe in you, your poor, your gays, your blacks,
When the wolves run wild among them, sinking fangs into their backs?
Think then that they'll be caring, when they're counting out their dead,
We inflict pain upon a captive wolf to learn what's in his head?
Do you really think, you bleeding hearts, when they bleed in scarlet torrents,
They'll care we cage the savage wolves, search lairs without signed warrants?
For years we watched your 'feel good' courts defang our criminal laws,
Handcuff our police, give felons rights, espouse the criminals' cause.
Felonious wolves were freed to prey, and we suffered their wild rages
Till 'thinking' men took back the courts, put the wolf packs back in cages.
With your same old clueless 'feelings' you now decry this war;
And with your same old fuzzy logic, common sense you still ignore.
We must look into 'root causes' and we must try to 'feel their pain;'
Pardon if our eyes start rolling, at your same old lame refrain.
It's hard to fathom whence you come, perhaps some flawed eugenics,
That begets utopian pessimists, sires optimistic cynics.
Thanks be the power to rule the land remains beyond your means;
A regime of yours, would be like, no doubt, being ruled by pimpled teens.
Your quixotic quest for a world love nest, denies some truths quite real,
Like the need to have some 'thinking' folks to preserve your right to 'feel.'
Abhorring blood on your own hands, there's a hard truth you've ignored,
Someone else must take your plowshare, and beat it back into a sword.
So how many of you Liberals does it take to win a war?
Or is there simply nothing you believe worth fighting for?
How is it that you've never learned, like most when they grow older,
That appeasing badness is a bad idea, only makes the bad guys bolder.
Has your fear of spilling human blood made you Jihad's useful fools,
Ignoring that their wolf packs never fight within the rules?
By your demand we stay our hand, you weaken and you bind us;
Forcing us to fight off wolf attacks with that hand tied behind us.
So we bend some rules, in war you fools; so what? Show some respect,
When it's your fuzzy—headed 'feelings' 'thinking' men fight to protect.
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Russ Vaughn is the Poet Laureate of the American Thinker