We've left blood in the source of twenty-five arches
We've built code on a dozen more,
And all that we have at the end of our hitch
Buys a night with a second-rate core.

The network decrees, the ircnet calls,
The orders come down from online.
It's 'git/fetch' and 'mk install,'
We're sending patches where they can die.

The lines that we take, the compiler spits back
Rather more often than not,
But the more that are pruned, the less share the core
And we won't be back to this spot.

We'll break the tags of your webshit and URLs
We may break your laptop, as well
Then the 9front Marines with their banners unfurled
Will follow those banners to hell—

We know the devil, his pomps, and his works,
Ah, yes! We know them well!
When you've served out your hitch in the 9front Marines,
You can sam -d the source code of Hell!

Then we'll drink with our comrades and throw down our packs,
We'll rest ten years on the flat of our backs,
Then it's 'sysupdate' and out of your racks,
You must build a new driver through Hell!