Derek WebbThe Proverbial Gun

Now I can buy the proverbial gun And shoot the proverbial child While my uncle looks me in the eye And speaks of freedom And my conscience goes up on trial In the courtrooms of the mind Where the judges all have sons And all the lawyers are wounded And the backs are all broke And the bailiff is my brother And the witness is my sister And I'm guilty as hell But by the afternoon I'm out Out on the pavement walking Wreaking of salt and blood No hat upon my head No shoes upon my feet Picking your body From my teeth No stars above me No stripes upon me Free
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