Back in 69,I didn't have a care. Before they called my number,I chopped of all my hair. Said goodbye to mamma,dad and uncle Dan. Boarded an airplane and headed off for Nam. He called us to attention as we stepped off the plane. Checked us off a list as he called out our names. Then he picked up his rifle and raised it in the air. Grabbed his crotch with his other hand as we all stood and stared. He said... This is my rifle,this is my gun. One is for killing,the other is for fun. So until this war is over,or until your time is done. This is your rifle,and this one is your gun. Thirty years have passed since i stepped off that plane,the nightmares haven't ended and neither has the pain. I've drank my share of liquor and smoked my share of grass.but i can't unload the memories or these few words from my past. This is my rifle,this is my gun. One is for killing,the other is for fun. So until this war is over,or until my time is done. This is my rifle,and this one is my gun. Well, a dear friend of mine finally called it quits,they found him one cold morning laying in a ditch. A bullet through his brain, his rifle at his side and one old rusted dog tag from 1969. When they turned his body over they found his written note. It wasn't but a few lines, but the last he ever wrote. And when they laid him in his grave on that cold December day. I took those words he'd written and I began to play. This is my rifle,this is my gun. One is for killing,the other is for fun. So until this war is over,or until my time is done. This is my rifle and this one is my gun...