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Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the deranged young man,
His mother's arsenal in hand,
"I've lived with pain no one can stand,
The world will see that I'm a man."
And until he springs his fatal plan
He's backed by the highest law of the land.
"Oh no, you can't pin it on me,
I'm just taking my place in history."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the madman's mother,
Whose job it was to be a teacher
And to those kids a kindly mentor,
But in whose house was hid a dark prize,
The very means of her own demise;
She thought it would keep her safe and warm
But it made her cold and dead —
"You can't lay this on my head,
I was well within my rights to own that gun,
You don't know what it's like to raise a son . . .
Oh no, you can't blame it all on me,
I'm a victim of society."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the gun store clerk,
"It's just like any other line of work,
I can't help it if someone goes berserk —
Besides, there's a good living in firearms,
It's people, not weapons, that do the harm;
I'm like any merchant who buys cheap and sells dear . . .
Oh no, the fault doesn't lie here,
Those twenty children had nothing to do with me,
I'm doing my bit for the economy."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the factory technician,
Who oversees the making of ammunition
And takes perverse pride in quality production
Of lead slugs whose sole purpose is destruction.
"It's only my job to make the bullets —
You need a trigger and someone willing to pull it . . .
Oh no, I had no part in that atrocity,
I'm just a small cog in the machinery."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the president of Bushmaster,
The firm that made the weapon that brought disaster
To a Connecticut town, and now talking faster,
Insists people around the world have received
Freedom from his guns, though he's clearly deceived:
His guns give nothing; instead one took
The lives of twenty children at Sandy Hook,
Twenty happy kids already born free
But doomed to slaughter because of the tyranny
Of men like him who drape their greed
In the twisted folds of an outworn creed.
"Oh no, you can't blame me for one bad seed,
I'm an industry leader with responsibility
And I sleep at night wrapped in Old Glory."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
"Not me," says the Washington politician,
Thinking to himself, my God, I also have children,
But my hands are tied on this one, I have no will,
Even though I know that guns kill,
I'm bought and paid for, I'm just a shill
Who must shoot down in Congress any bill
With even a shred of sanity or reason
Lest my paymasters accuse me of treason.
"For the record, I'm not to blame;
What happened in Newtown was truly a shame —
Our prayers go out to the families affected —
But while we can't defend our children, gun rights must be protected . . .
Oh no, you can't point your finger at me,
I act on behalf of my constituency."
Who killed those twenty kids?
Who and tell me why they did?
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