The windows are boarded,
The rations are hoarded,
The shotguns are loaded with care.
The door's double-barred,
And out in the yard,
The garden's protected by snares.
My room has a view,
And a rifle or two,
And axes beside the grenades;
Up here from my seat
I look down the street,
And watch the cadaver parades.
When neighbours out walking
Come calling and knocking,
They surely get shot in the head.
You may think it's rude,
But that's what you do
When all of your neighbours are dead.
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