"Until Morale Improves, The Beatings Will Continue"

I walked the road from Tucson to San Antonio with the smell of blood on my breath.

Ninety days of sweat and dirt feels like one night when you've got nothing left.

'til there's nothing left to do but die.

Buckshot is my bread, and I'll drink whiskey instead of water 'cause I can't stand to be sober in this place.

Your hands on my face every step of the way, tryin' to peel away the pain.

I'll drink whiskey instead of water...