He used to run shine, the world in a still Never needed nothin’ bottled but the liquor and will. Backroad saint, swearin’ he’d die before he’d bend, Now he’s postin’ “thin blue line” from a double-wide den. Used to hate “the man” with his chest held high Now he salutes him when the paycheck walks by. Now you’re sitting in the front row, nodding at the man With the law pinned to your conscience and a Bible in your hand. You don’t want peace, you want power you can borrow, A holy little cover for the harm you do tomorrow. The shine left the jar to polish the badge, And you threw away every damn principle you had Blair Mountain remembers, who stood and who ran, Who wore red for the miners, and who bowed to the man. Oh, it’s a strange kind of gravity, a bitter design The bootlegger to bootlicking pipeline. He’s got a ring on the doorbell, a gate on the drive, Watching pixelated neighbors just to feel alive. He used to spot a cruiser from a mile through the haze, Now he’s logging onto forums, counting down the days Till they “clean up the streets,” like he wasn’t the dirt, Like he didn’t have mountain-blood stained in his shirt. He thinks he’s the hammer, but he’s just the nail’s head, Sleeping sound on the side of the ones who want him dead. Now you’re sitting in the front row, nodding at the man With the law pinned to your conscience and a Bible in your hand. You don’t want peace, you want power you can borrow, A holy little cover for the harm you do tomorrow. The shine left the jar to polish the badge, And you threw away every damn principle you had Blair Mountain remembers, who stood and who ran, Who wore red for the miners, and who bowed to the man. Oh, it’s a strange kind of gravity, a bitter design The bootlegger to bootlicking pipeline. Polish ’em up. Make ’em shine. Hope the paycheck was worth it. They’re never gonna love you back. Never were.
