In a hot dusty playground of a small country school
Where nobody's heard of the Queensbury rules
A skinny young boy cried the tears of defeat
And they made two rivers down the dust of his cheeks

So he ran home to Mother and told her his woes
How the bully had licked him and bloodied his nose
She said to him "Son, you might be quite small"
But the bigger they come the harder they fall

So pick yourself up and dust yourself down
Battles ain't won lying down on the ground
Never say die and always come back
'Cause dynamite comes in a very small pack

On a hot dusty battleground serving his land
That boy was a mortally wounded young man
He said to himself "Man you ain't dead yet!"
He remembered the words that his mother had said

Pick yourself up and dust yourself down
Battles ain't won lying down on the ground
Never say die and always come back
'Cause dynamite comes in a very small pack