| I was down in the sunset, hadn’t eaten lunch yet
|
| Up on my soapbox, in front of a coffee shop
|
| Runnin' my mouth about the war in Iraq
|
| When a G.I., right behind my back, said
|
| Don’t care who told you
|
| Don’t care what you’re selling
|
| But you don’t know how bad it is
|
| Oh no you don’t know how bad it is
|
| 'Cuz I was down in the desert on my second tour
|
| I didn’t want to do the third
|
| But I wanted to be sure
|
| That I got my G.I. |
| bill when I would return
|
| So I grabbed the bottle
|
| And let the rubber burn
|
| We were waiting for orders
|
| But new orders never came
|
| Only to patrol that old refinery in shame
|
| With no sense of purpose on an idle soldier’s mind
|
| I went left, right, left
|
| And I stumbled on down the line |