Hey momma, holla back,
It’s ya little boy writin’ from Iraq,
I know ya wonderin as ya sittin there,
why in heaven ya gotta be so scared,
cuz ya little boy is carryin a gun,
shootin up the villages just fo fun,
and I know ya wonderin who’s to blame,
who’s put ya baby to this shame.
Was it the man who sent the first,
pushed in the troops, momma, was he the worst?
Or was it him who got me stayin here?
The one who left me in a life of fear?

No matter who comes out or who goes in,
it’s the men in offices who sin.
I know ya wonderin, who’s the one to blame?
But I’m tellin ya that it’s all the same.
They talk big and say they gonna bring me home,
but momma I think it’s just a show.
When will I finally be in ya arms?
Eatin ya cookin, warm and safe from harm.

Tell the suits to get real and get me back,
get the troops back to families,
bring us home from Iraq.