Back in about 2001 when a British soldier was killed in Sierra Leone,trying to keep the peace between the useless government and a rebel army recruited largely from children, I scribbled this bit. At the time I thought the "Who'll be a soldier" bit was trad, so apologies to Pete Coe if it's his:

Jimmy Timms was a lad from a tower block in Manchester,
Hated his school so he left at sixteen,
Twelve months in a burger hell, he'd had about a bellyful,
When this is what he saw as he glazed at the screen:

Who'll be a soldier, who'll be a soldier,
Who'll be a soldier, for England and me?
Smart in your uniform, cool and professional,
So sign for a soldier for England and me!

For two happy years, he thought he'd found his paradise,
Well paid and busy, good mates, a good career.
He did his turn in Bosnia, and helped out in an orphanage,
Came home at Christmas and bought his dad a beer.

Life for a soldier, life for a soldier,
Life for a soldier for England and me,
And he grew strong and confident, the other lads looked up to him,
Ready for promotion for England and me.

But a nasty little war in a forgotten part of Africa
Tore him away from his happy routine.
Diamonds and oil, big business and the Mafia,
And God help the children who came inbetween.

Work for a soldier, work for a soldier,
Work for a soldier for England and me,
And he saw the burning shanty towns, the bodies lying all around,
Work for a soldier for England and me.

Then one day out on patrol he saw a girl with a rocket gun,
Small, black and beautiful, no more than seventeen,
A moment's hesitation before he pulled his trigger,
She'd launched her grenade through the Land Rover's screen.

Death for a soldier, death for a soldier,
Death for a soldier for England and me.
One man killed, half a dozen minor injuries,
But death for a soldier, for England and me.

There's a black granite gravestone in a cemetery in Manchester,
Fresh flowers weekly to keep his memory green,
And an unmarked grave on a riverbank in Africa.
No trace remains of the love that should have been.

A grave for a soldier, a grave for a soldier,
A grave for a soldier for England and me,
And there's two young lives, and everything they could have been,
Wasted for war, and for England, and me.