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The Skids
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Working For The Yankee Dollar
Skids
Yankee, to war
Yankee, head high
Yankee, in call
Yankee, we cry
In Germany in the forty five, my mind was on the altar
Thought of god, the iron rod and thought that needed shelter
From 'Tragen' pain and men insane and eyes that got much colder
Saw a German son with a Yankee gun and a uniform much older
Yankee, to war
Yankee, head high
Yankee, in call
Yankee, we cry
Working for the Yankee dollar
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Working for the Yankee dollar
Processions bear that human flare which mark a hero's welcome
For those dead and for those shed it was a big occasion
And all flags and Yankee mags which embroidered all the meaning
In an oversight, forgot the fight, which never bore elation
Yankee, to war
Yankee, head high
Yankee, in call
Yankee, we cry
Working for the Yankee dollar
Working for the Yankee dollar
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