Oh the grub's not so good and the gravity's low
If you don't wear your helmet, your head will explode
But we'll fight for what's right, and the rights of all those down below
Oh the beaks have no mercy and neither do we
We'll k** 'em and take back our He-3
We'll rip out their feathers and tie up their feet
We'll fight in the craters and basins and streets
Jones was a good man, a father of five
The beaks cut his tendons and ate him alive
Smith was a fighter, he never asked why
The beaks cut his tendons and ate him alive
But oh, how I miss my little wife
And oh, how I miss my simple life
Free of the drums and the electro-fife
On the planet down below
Here in space they've turned us into k**ing machines
Visions of dead beaks haunting our dreams
Our friends and our families would never understand
On sleepy planet Earth there's no place for a space-fighting man