| My grand-mama worked on a factory floor
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| Sewing leather for minimum wage
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| While my grandaddy worked all the beer joints in town
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| Tryna forget the memories he made
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| Cause his daddy was born in 1945
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| He’d been fighting for what we believe
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| Among 5 other brothers who stood by his side
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| They were ready, they were willing to bleed
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| Red, White, and Blue
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| Those colors mean something
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| Those colors stay true
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| Like my family before me, I feel it too
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| The blood that’s in my veins
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| Runs Red, White, and Blue
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| My daddy grew up on the wrong side of poor
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| Rubbing nickels together for heat
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| Well he and his sister barely got by With the clothes and the shoes on their feet
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| So he joined the service when he was 18
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| Like his daddy and his uncles before
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| He was ready to die for what he believed
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| To fight for, what’s worth fighting for
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| Red, White, and Blue
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| Those colors mean something
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| Those colors stay true
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| Like my family before me, I feel it too
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| The blood that’s in my veins
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| Runs Red, White, and Blue
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| Well me and my sisters got kids of our own
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| And my brother’s coming up on 16
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| And my daddy taught us all how to live off the land
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| And how to stand up for what we believe.
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| Red, White, and Blue
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| Those colors mean something
|
| Those colors stay true
|
| Like my family before me, I feel it too
|
| The blood that’s in my veins
|
| Runs Red, White, and Blue
|
| Like my family before me, I feel it too
|
| The blood that’s in my veins
|
| Runs Red, White, and Blue
|
| The blood that’s in my veins
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| Runs Red, White, and Blue |