Every song I sing, cuts a little bit more,
you could never connect the copper cast with the mold.
You could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

Every mile I drive, further down this road, 
tears a little more off of my bones,
and you could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

The first thing they was taught, was how to load and lock.
Take that aim and shot, embrace the pain of shoulder blade taking stock.
Watch em drop, pull the bolt back, load another up till the clip goes "pop".
Till you sweep your block, and you can hear a pin drop in a place that's  [bad word] with "POP! POP! POP! POP!".

The first thing they learned, was how to plant that carbine in the earth,
prop that helmet on the stock, hang them dog tags from the lock.
Say your prayers and mark the spot, where the body's interred,
then turn, taciturn, and talk that walk. Taste that salt! 
Sprinkle a little bit of lye in the earth, don't cry when it hurts,
cause you ain't done yet son.

Spill a little bit more blood, everybody knows [bad word] from the warm wet red mud.
Best I believe, when you fall to your knees, you're gonna cry, you'll pray for peace,
and they gonna plant them seeds of the winter wheat and the Georgia peach 
watered up with your [bad word] 

Every song I sing, cuts a little bit more,
you could never connect the copper cast with the mold.
You could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

Every mile I drive, further down this road, 
tears a little more off of my bones,
and you could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

I know he would've loved this, but he had to die to give it.
I melted down his musket, turned it to a tool.
Tilling like a fool, to see where his blood went,
See if I can grow something beautiful above it.
Standing guard above my garden till the seeds take root,
Taking shade under the trees with the sweet [bad word] 
I'll take my yield and his old boots till the leaves shake loose,
I will die in these fields, but my seeds will move.
The ox and yoke know every note I hum,
written in the grass by the midday sun.
The lamp lit ahead of me, with the earth between my feet,
I'll sing a song into the breeze, let it fold the wheat.

Every song I sing, cuts a little bit more,
you could never connect the copper cast with the mold.
You could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

Every mile I drive, further down this road, 
tears a little more off of my bones,
and you could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

Every song I sing, cuts a little bit more,
you could never connect the copper cast with the mold.
You could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!

Every mile I drive, further down this road, 
tears a little more off of my bones,
and you could never guess, you could never guess,
you could never guess where [bad word] from... No!