nothing’s ever open in this town
everything closes at sundown
it wouldn’t be worth the risk
and business is never that brisk
everyone’s related to everyone else
and they all know their arse from a hole in the ground
if you can’t find it with both hands and a flashlight
step right in they’re made round to go around
what’s that sound?
that’s the sound of a lonely man
banging his head against a partition wall
no comfort to the enemy no way at all
if you don’t who’s driving there’s a number you can call
America Americans American bucks
the signs are explicit the back of the trucks say
gun control means both hands on the rifle
I’ll keep my guns and money you can keep the change
never been anywhere in this world at all
out beyond the confines of these four walls
there’s a bus you can catch that goes somewhere else
but why would you ever want to leave here
what’s that sound?
that’s the sound of a lonely man
banging his head against a partition wall
that’s the sound of shoot to kill
dispossession
gun law
bodies falling
white bread built this land of milk and money
you won’t forget that in a hurry here
white bread white America small town sundown
white bread white America small town sundown
white bread white America small town sundown
© Eric Goulden / Wreckless Eric / Fire Publishing 2015
