my cousin is in columbia   hunting down the rebels   over fields of bright and shiny coca      over the jungle floor   one-handing a 32   he says: “bring her down low now, I'm ready to go.”      “I hunt kids in camouflage   rain down bullets in flight, white light,   barefoot boys run for your lives.”      but you can't be nice   you put your gun to their head   and you pull back the pin   and you can't be good      my friend is based in afghanistan   he goes from cave to cave and pulls the trigger   at the first sight of a man      it's total anarchy   shooting tracer bullets at night   a high and holy patrol into poppy fields      but you can't be good   you hold up the bloody knife   and let it shine in the sun   you gotta be everywhere      I'm a guard in guantanamo   I bring the prisoners in   the hoods come off and torture slowly begins      the screams I've overheard   it'd fuck up a weaker man   but I'm cold, I'm so untouchable      and you can't be nice   I got a flak jacket   on my soul with me tonight   and you can't be good