Lyrics

On Sundays your mama would go to town
Making plans for her passage to heaven
While deep in the woods at the back of the farm
You spent Sundays with daddy and a .357

Your eyesight he tuned like an antique piano
Your hands he trained to be steady and true
And deep in the woods with that .357
Your daddy said guns would make a man out of you

Your blood has been shed in many a war
Your father?s
and up to three fathers before
A man is no man until he?s lived as a soldier
But even more of a man
If he dies as one

When your number came up you were barely eighteen
So you drank daddy?s liquor ?til it blacked out the fear
Your country was hungry, your record was clean
Your time as a man was finally here

Your Daddy and his walked you to the train station
Your Mama had found something better to do
As you said your goodbyes, the old men were laughing
And you wondered if they ever gave a damn about you.

You better bring home some shrapnel boy
To make your daddy proud
To make him love you more
There?d better be gunpowder stains on your hands
It?ll never wash off
Just like your old man?s

(Musical interlude)

Your eyesight was sharp like you knew it would be
Your hands held the rifle perfectly still
And somewhere between eighteen and nineteen
You lost count of how many men you had killed

Bury them deep and bury them warm
To make your daddy proud
To make him love you more
And don?t you get scared when the sky turns red
Cause at least you can see it
At least you ain?t dead

Don?t you come home with an injured soul
Hold your head up high if you get spit on
And if your body is broken and you can?t hardly breathe
Just count your blessings that you?ve lived this long

Your blood has been shed in many a war
With your father?s
and up to three fathers before
And don?t you get scared when the sky turns red
Cause at least you can see it
At least you ain?t dead