Country Joe McDonald - The Munition Maker lyrics

I am the Cannon king, behold! I perish on a throne of gold With forest far and turret high Renowned and rajah-rich am I My father was and his before With wealth we owe to war on war; But let no potentate be proud There are no pockets in a shroud By nature I am mild and kind To gentleness and truth inclined; And though the pheasants over-run My woods, I will not touch a gun Yet while each monster that I forge Thunders destruction from its gorge d**h's whisper is, I vow, more loud There are no pockets in a shroud My time is short, my ships at sea Already seem like ghosts to me My millions mock me, I am poor As any beggar at my door My vast dominion I resign Six feet of earth to claim as mine Brooding with shoulders bid bitter-bowed There are no pockets in a shroud Dear God, let me purge pure my heart And be of Heaven's hope a part! Flinging my fortune's foul increase To fight for pity, love and peace Oh that I could with healing fare And pledged to poverty and prayer Cry high above the cringing crowd "Ye fools! Be not by Mammon cowed There are no pockets in a shroud."