B.F.P. B.F.P. B.F.P. B.F.P. B.F.P. B.F.P. Our little army boy is coming home from B.F.P. We've a bunch of paper flowers to decorate to Mammy's hero Mornin' in the aerodrome, the weather warm, the heat is colder For a man in uniform to carry home, my little soldier What could he do? He should have been a rock star But he didn't have the money for a good time What could he do? He should have been a politician But he never had a proper education What could he do? He should have been a father But he never even made it to his twenties What a waste, army dreamers Oh, what a waste of army dreamers Tears are a tin box But Jesus Christ, he wasn't to know Like a chicken with a fox He couldn't win the war, nor did he go If the king could break the fence And give him all his troops and weapons Now he's sittin' in his home He reaches for a handgun, seven bullets What could he do? He should have been a rock star But he didn't have the money for a good time What could he do? He should have been a politician But he never had a proper education What could he do? He should have been a father But he never even made it to his twenties What a waste, army dreamers Oh, what a waste of army dreamers Oh, what a waste of army dreamers Army dreamers Army dreamers Army Dreamers