The boys have met the strikers at the station
And we're all going into action.
Militiaman.
Nope.
Something the old man's done.
Second Sentry.
What?
Militiaman.
Put her there.
(The Sentry gives him a cigarette)
Ordered us down a big red tub of punch,
With six or eight kegs of the foaming stuff.
(The Sentries stare comically at one another)