Born On the Fourth of July

Marching, I hear marching

Outside my window in the rain

I play checkers, I'm sick of checkers

I'm sick of pain

Marching I hear marching

Outside my window in the rain

I play checkers, I'm sick of checkers

I'm sick of pain, I'm sick of pain

Mondays, every Monday

Sees my hollows eyes

I liked Hank Williams, he died Hank Williams

I'm still alive, I'm still alive

Blood red and blue, your flags on view

Ticker tape rains on Fifth Avenue

Some coloured kid will shine your shoes

Some orphan screams in a chow line queue

For the whitewash and the tarbrush don't lie

Hey, lucky you to be born on the 4th of July

Callin', storm warnings callin'

From Calvary to Bunker Hill

Pontius Pilate turned the tarot

And the reaper killed, and the reaper killed

Glory, wave old glory

Sand Creek to Gettysburgh

From Andrew Jackson to Richard Nixon

For the brave new world, for the brave new world

It's last request for protest time

Some long-haired kid on the subway line

With a beaten guitar and a lot of time

We shall overcome, well we never shall

It's flags on lapels and faded decals

Max Yasga and puka shells

Dungarees and dying causes

Body bags and pregnant pauses

Dayglow posters of Joan Baez

Meditating, dating, yoga and E.S.T.

Bells and flowers and beads of incense

Well none of that shit makes any sense

For the whitewash and the tarbrush don't lie

Hey, lucky you to be born on the 4th of July