Gallons of style

I'm tradin' in all the hard, hard times
me and my friends have had through
the years for a pair of old chucks
and a worn thin shirt and somethin'
that sounds sweeter to the ears.

When your hands and eyes are tied to
industry you stick a flag in something
to call your own you're not left
at all with an unhappy life, you're
just left with a sad, sad song.

To pull me out of the ground thats
where I'm run into anymore
It all got buried in the cold
hard ground so far down it all
burned to hell and nothin' ever
grows in the middle of a fire
except for dust and ash as far
as I can tell.

Now the tough folks here keep
on kickin' while the others
all get stoned and fade away
nothing's ever done without a
sage or a drunk that doesn't
have something beautiful to
say.