The drill sargent in full metal jacket had his troops march around the barracks in their undergarments holding their rifle in one hand and their "gun" in their other chanting this:

This is my rifle this is my gun, this is for fighting and this is for fun!

A lovely little prayer follows in the next writeup.

"Pray!"

This is my rifle.
There are many like it but this one is mine.
My rifle is my best friend. It is my life.
I must master it as I must master my life.
Without me my rifle is useless.
Without my rifle, I am useless.
I must fire my rifle true.
I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me.
I must shoot him before he shoots me.
I will.
Before God I swear this creed.
My rifle and myself are defenders of my country.
We are the master of our enemy.
We are the saviours of my life.
So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace.
Amen.

"At ease.

Goodnight ladies!"

From "A Day Mournful and Overcast", written by an unknown member of the Iron Column, a revolutionary anarchist militia of the Spanish Civil War.

"Accustomed to taking whatever we needed, we seized provisions and guns from the fascists as we drove them back. For a time we fed ourselves on offerings from the peasants, and we armed ourselves, not with weapons extended to us in gift, but with what we wrested from the insurgents with our bare hands. The rifle that I hold and caress, which accompanies me since the day that I forsook the prison, is mine; it belongs to me. I stripped it like a man from the hands of its former owner, and in the same manner was obtained almost every other rifle held and owned by my comrades."