Rubber bullets for the ladies, catch them in a CS can,
Three inches wide, six inches long, take it home to your old man,
It's an instrument of torture, to break your leg in two,
It'll stop you feeling lonely, but leave you black and blue.

When you had your fill of CS gas behind the barricade,
And serve your time with half-bricks, you've learned a brand new trade,
Fighting for your freedom, the Dignity of Man,
Look out for rubber bullets, the Army's latest plan.

Don't forget the highway code when crossing of the street,
A bullet doing ninety could leave you obsolete.
Watch when stepping off the curb, (I'm being quite sincere)
A bullet in the proper place could leave you feeling queer.

If your family's going hungry, curfew needn't break your heart,
The Army's solved your problem: you can bake a rubber tart.
When you're under house arrest, and your nerves are getting frayed,
The prescription's 'rubber bullets fired from underneath the bed.'

When a soldier says he loves you, down behind the barricade,
Look out for rubber bullets when you grab his red cockade,
He'll knock you up or knock you down, so careful how you bend,
Wherever the rubber bullet hits, you'll feel it in the end.