I've investigated further, and can only say, "Jumpin' sh*t! Let's BLAST them l'il buggers afore they drag us all down to their level! Jaysus, the very survival of the human race (poor excuse that it might be) is at stake!"

We're off to off the Care Bears,
The invading Martian sods,
We'll stomp their heads and pee in their beds
And save our world because!
Oh, we're off to off the Care Bears
Those dirty Martian sods!

Little Hawk, the Idaho Regiment stands ready! Our marching song (above) is written! Our firelocks are on our shoulders! We have drawn our swords, and our trumpets shall never call retreat! The piper is tuned and he's pipin' away! Our packs are on our backs and the boat's on the bay! Our flax and wheels are sold! The girls (and boys) we left behind are weepin' for their Johnny and Joanie goin' to sea! We won't come back 'til it's over! The Harrow tomorrow we must cross! We few, we proud, we band of brothers (and sisters)! Where ever our colors are worn are changed, changed utterly! Wrap the green flag round me! Once more, dear friends, into the breach, once more! Remember the Alamo! Remember the Maine! St. Denis! They shall not pass! Mountjoy! For God, England, and St. George! Arount thee wench, the rump-fed runion cries!

What, Colonel Little Hawk, are your orders?