| Marines come home
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| After fighting for their home
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| While the banks back home
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| Went and took away their own
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| Now they home gone
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| And job’s gone
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| Matter of fact, mine gone
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| 'cause mine been smoking cigarettes while trying to
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| Now he home, and homeless
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| Got creditor’s
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| Those starbucks that took over his neighborhood
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| Don’t want 'em
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| No job offering
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| Lost in the american dream
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| And the images of bodies on the ground
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| PTSD
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| USA, they don’t want to stand up
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| For their own
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| But they expect you to stand up
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| When they need you to overthrow
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| Another regime that went rogue
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| So you fought down to the bone
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| To get sent back home
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| With those voices in your dome
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| America america
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| Oh what did you expect?
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| You sent your boys to die over a lie
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| Vet
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| Now I’m buried in the sand watching my brother bleed out
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| I’m trying to find from where he bleeding
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| Trying to keep the bleeding down
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| Until he finally goes away, and I
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| Have to be right back on patrol the next day
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| And every car that passes my platoon looks the same
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| As the car that had the bomb that blew my brother away
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| Now I’m paranoid and shooting anything with a face
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| The medical exams said it was safe for me to separate
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| And on the day I came home I recognized nothing
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| The voices in my head said «grab a gun and start dumping» |