I was drinking at the Sheraton
Too myself to sleep again
A guy said he'd buy me a shot
He sang a couple verses of
"Thank you for your service."
I nodded in all the right spots
It didn't go well
He had Bibles to sell
I blame the whole thing on him
He just wouldn't hear it, so
Full of Holy Spirit
I landed one square on his chin
Take me back home
I ain't no good 'round here anymore
Holding a match, soaked in gas
With the fire of hell at my core
I try my best to fake it
But I ain't what I was before
Take me back home to the war
Used to make the bullets sing
Lord of damn near everything
Now I'm buying shoes at the mall
When the third-string receiver
For the local Ivy feeder
Stops ringing me up to take a call
Only I took offense
Which made no kind of sense
But neither does anything these days
By the time the guard arrived
The kid had been revived
Though I never did manage to pay
Take me back home
I ain't no good 'round here anymore
Holding a match, soaked in gas
With the fire of hell at my core
I try my best to fake it
But I ain't what I was before
Take me back home to the war
Take me back home
I ain't no good 'round here anymore
Holding a match, soaked in gas
With the fire of hell at my core
I try my best to fake it
But I ain't what I was before
Take me back home to the war