Bobby Weidman - Ghost Stories

Red, white, and blue
Are my neck, skin, and collar
My point of view
Ain’t worth my bottom dollar
That I’m down to
Always was a hard worker
But opportunities few
And small town life is murder
My neighbor’s shouting things
That get you put on a list
With cardboard sign
And shaking fist
He flies the flag of the
Conspiracist
Pushing hatred
When he used to be just pissed
We always find someone to blame it on
When we’re just born at the wrong place
At the wrong time
And as it’s clear that the dream is gone
Some will lose their soul
Down the rabbit hole
Neighbor take my hand
Can’t you see
That this is not
Who we’re meant to be
This promised land
Has brought us to our knees
But you trade fairy tales
For ghost stories
When you just find somebody to blame it on
When we’re just born at the wrong place
At the wrong time
And although I know the dream is gone
We can keep our souls
From down the rabbit hole
Red, white, and blue
Is my blood, guilt, and collar
All are for sale
In the land of the dollar

Written by:
Robert Weidman

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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