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the line
I can make it up to glory at the end of my life
Now whiskey's hard to throw away something I might try to do
If I could spend forever running
the line
I can make it up to glory at the end of my life
Now whiskey's hard to throw away something I might try to do
If I could spend forever running
said) 
It belongs to me

And to your little boy and to your little girl
And the one hand clapping
Where on your palm is my little line
When you're
the vine.1
I really am a-fixin'
To go home and start a-mixin'
Down below that Mason-Dixon line.

Oh, poll tax2,
How I love ya, how I love ya,
My dear
to the promised land.

Workin' on a T-bone steak a la carte
Flying over to the Golden State; 
When the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
He would set us
I left my home one day
For the sake of better pay
In a foreign land twelve centuries back in time
Where the sun keeps burning down
On the hole
of summer
To a scorching winter land
A frozen death sleep, then this heat
Beats down on this buckled land

Flames lick closer to the core
From city limits
There's a road train going nowhere
Roads are cut, lines are down
We'll be staying at the Roma Bar
Till that monsoon passes on

The backbone
Follow the typical signs, the hand-painted lines, down prairie roads. 
Pass the lone church spire. 
Pass the talking wire from where to who knows?
said) 
It belongs to me

And to your little boy and to your little girl
And the one hand clapping
Where on your palm is my little line
When you're
and the line played out,
With a single flourish of his tail,
He capsized the boat and we lost five men,
And we did not catch the whale, brave boys,
And we
To a George Strait vinyl, that yes-or-no line'll get her close
But I don't think she can understand
Just how far I've been lettin' my heart fall
But what's
like a mighty army man
God's building a church
It'll be water to a dry and barren land
God's building a church
It's gonna rise from a valley of dead
like a mighty army man
God's building a church
It'll be water to a dry and barren land
God's building a church
It's gonna rise from a valley of dead
yeah yeah yeah
'Bout to buy me some land
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
As soon as I land
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Think he breakin' in
Yeah yeah
Shell shocked and trigger happy, (marching further out of line)
I live in peace but I'm still fighting (marching further out of line)
Who is wrong
America, the land of pretty people and monsters (I got it)

Disneyland spinoff full of privilege and products (yeah)
Compete with our drama, clawed out
That's some sweet dreams, who want a taste?
Give the American dream to a bitch that ain't even from the USA
That's the land of the Free, it's the home
of the southlands listen to that whistle scream
It's that pan american on her way to new or-leans.

She leaves cincinnati headin' down that dixie line
When she passes
for hustling season
Bottom line money is power
And the power mean muscle
Money and guns stacked up to the ceiling
Nigga get down for his hustle his
She lives in the land of the used to be
These days, baby that's all she's got 
She tries so hard just to stay in touch
But auld acquaintance long
Saddam in this bitch
One at a time, I line 'em up and bomb on they mom
While she watchin' the kids
I'm in a destruction mode if the gold exists
I'm
The inner city life controlled by the outer world G
Another Bronx War Story
(Repeat last line 4x)

[Verse 2:]

Peace see God you held me down like a weapon
(too wild)
Thought I was just a wide-eyed child
I guess things haven't changed that much 
I can still shoot tequila, I can still land a punch 

They

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