They’re shooting up the desert tonight down in Little Iraq
Some of the boys going out there will not be coming back
They’ll drown in a dry wash of shotgun shells and beer
With the sound of freedom still ringing in their ears
In their ears
The dudes in the diesels come spoiling for a fight
They circle ’round the campfires hunting for Friday night
Every now and then you can hear ‘em bogging down
Where the sand gets soft cussing their luck and
Pushing that truck that they do not dare turn off
Do not dare turn off
The moon rises yellow hooded like a weeping eye
Tired of dripping light down on the scenery sliding by
On the AK47s and the shot to shit tvs
If it’s shiny we shoot at it my country tis of thee
Oh my country tis of thee sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing
Dawn brings the deputy to survey the battle scars
Beating the thickets writing tickets to unabandoned dogs and cars
It’s the only quiet of the day and he wants to be gone real soon
Nobody’s dying to be high sheriff of this country
At high noon
The quadrunners and the ghostriders start gunning their engines
The shiny plastic helmets make them look like little aliens
Popping wheelies in the river bottom ’til the dust just chokes the air
And mom follows behind with the sandwiches’cause it’s a family affair
It’s a family affair
My grandpa showed me this country when I was a kid
Saguaros soldiered everywhere
Now they only march on the mountains and the few
That are left down there in the flats are peppered
With bullets the size of golfballs buried in the rotting wood
And if you’re the one with the biggest gun
I guess you just call that good
Yeah and everyone else is evil everyone else is wrong and
If you won’t fight for what is right then you simply don’t belong
And we do not feel for pulses and we do not feel for pain
Pay very close attention listen to the rhythm of the fallen reign
Telling me what a fool I’ve been
What a fool I’ve been
They’re shooting up the desert tonight down in Little Iraq
Some of the boys going out there will not be coming back
They’ll drown in a dry wash of shotgun shells and beer
With the sound of freedom still ringing in their ears
In their ears, in their ears
The sound of freedom