We march and fight to death or on to victory. Our might is right no traitors shall prevail. Our hearts are steeled against the fiery gates of hell. No shot or shell can still our mighty song.
Where I come from it was really unheard of to be at a party and someone says 'What kind of music do you make?' and you say 'Pop music.' You may as well have 'I'm not cool' stamped on your forehead.
