"Come on, you sons of ******, do you want to live forever?"

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Attention:
Keep your head
help up,
your feet
pointed at me,
and your brains
in a vice.
I’ve got you
in this
special regiment
for the next
four hours.
Listen,
as the words march
out of my mouth
and onto your
heavy eyelashes.
Silent in respect,
and stunned by my
knowledge.
Sit in
butterfly formation
and guess
which weapon
killed your father.
From the Springfield
to a Browning
to a Mameluke,
or a Mortar.

Go on,

guess which
weapon
killed your father.





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