you never bench your cartridges,
if one shoots straight, you bring it in.
stare at your heirlooms and give your girl her blooms,
tell the ghost in you it’s time to move.
you’re gonna see her face, you’re gonna kiss her lips
and with her hips, you’re gonna come to grips,
beneath her nightgown, where the sweat drips down,
in a ghost town, you’ll settle down.
and you were p*ss drunk when the bottle hit your head,
anybody else, would’ve been dead,
you left him on the ground with a face full of red.
remember, i remember that i was with you on the fourth
troy drove down, ’cause your momma died,
we kept digging ditches and you didn’t even cry,
well, this ain’t even half that bad.
this ain’t even half that bad.
well, it’ll start so slow, you’ll know you’re in love,
and it’ll stay that way until the morning comes.
with her breath on your chin, and her nails diggin’ in,
well, she’ll moan in sin, when the ghost begins.
and maybe it’s not what you needed,
and maybe it’s not what you planned.
and maybe it’s not what you wanted,
but it’s what she demands.
you were midstride when the bullet hit your head.
i rolled you over, you were just dead,
i left on you on the ground in the puddle that you
remember, i remember then,
i was alone when i made the long drive
to troy’s house to tell him you died,
he quit digging ditches and he walked inside, mumbling:
“how did it get so bad?”
well, how did it get so bad.
in a borrowed suit, your old man’s tie,
and a picture book from junior high.
well, get ’em down, boys,
get ’em down, boys,
get ’em down, boys, and say goodbye.