Ströer Bros. & Fine - Ghost Town Square Dance lyrics

Old sagging flesh so lame Oppose attriting time in vain To Love and strive A losing battle - still - will Undefeated - struggles hard Resistance is its own reward Incarnate again - familiar grind Chart the changes, tame the mind Choose your partners, darn your gown It's the only dance in town. Double-wide trailers, straighten your bola tie. Population, elevation: take your pick. Girls in pink pinafores and boys in clean jeans. This hotel's a hellhole and your host's a ghost. Our pate's short shorn 'cause we're native-born. Sippin' hundred-proof corn from dusk to morn. We dug gold ore till there was no more. shut the general store and barred up the door. Call it civilization or whatever you please: Greed past need's a pandemic disease. We got boot-cut jeans and SUVs. Park your truck in the shade of the cottonwood trees. Just a fly swat, flea bit, used to have a name: Nobody but the bedbugs and yourself to blame. Hey hey hey hey We dug for ore Hey hey hey hey Till there was no more So we furled the flag and hobbled the nag, stuffed the calico cat in the carpet bag. Hooves, boots, eighteen-wheelers: Hundred years just a flash in the pan. Moccasins, boots, eighteen-wheelers: A hundred years just a flash in the pan. Ping sequined suits, users & dealers, hunger, fear, lust & pa**ion of man. Sippin' hundred-proof corn from dusk to morn, tumbleweed, Bibles to read. We needed dough and we baked our bread. We needed to go - and now we're dead. Hey hey hey hey We dug for ore Hey hey hey hey Till there was no more Speak, speak freely, in our own rhyme and time, in our own place and music, with the angels, divine: We're not here to be all alone. Tumbleweed, Bibles to read, preachers and prisons and god-awful words, pa**enger pigeons and buffalo herds. So we furled the flag and hobbled the nag, stuffed the calico cat in the carpet bag. Call it civilization or whatever you please: Greed past need's a pandemic disease. We got boot-cut jeans and SUVs. Park your truck in the shade of the cottonwood trees. Population, elevation: take your pick. We needed dough and we baked our bread. We needed to go - and now we're dead. Speak, speak freely, in our own rhyme and time, in our own place and music, with the angles, divine: And the lion shall lie down with the lamb!