Verse 1: I saw a kid talkin’ down ’bout this land of the free, Sayin’ freedom’s a lie, and the flag’s just debris. But I looked at that cloth, torn red, white, and blue— And I thought of the men who died carryin’ it through. Verse 2: It flew at Valley Forge in the cold and the snow, Held by ragged old rebels with nothin’ but hope. It was there at Antietam, soaked deep in the red, As brothers killed brothers ‘til the rivers ran dead. Verse 3: It rose at Belleau Wood with a rifleman’s pride, Then crossed the Atlantic where heroes had died. It was carried on D-Day through fire and lead— On the cliffs of Pointe du Hoc, by the valiant dead. Verse 4: And it went up that hill at Iwo Jima’s face, Through blood and black ash in that godforsaken place. It flew on the decks where the Navy stood tall, From Midway to Leyte, they answered the call. On carriers and cruisers through the Pacific’s black seas, That flag rode the storm with our sailors at ease. Chorus: Yeah, you owe that voice you’re usin’ to shout, To a soldier who fought and never backed out. Your right to be wrong, to curse or to brag, Was paid for in blood by the ones who carried that flag. Verse 5: It waved through the jungles of Vietnam’s haze, In rice paddy hell and napalm blaze. It was stitched on the shoulders in that desert sand, Kuwait and Fallujah, held high in their hands. Verse 6: In Korengal Valley, where the mountains bite back, They fought with that banner strapped tight to their pack. And at Kabul’s last flight, it was folded with care, For the last to stand watch, and the ghosts left there. Chorus: So don’t take it lightly, that cloth in the wind— It covered the coffins of our bravest kin. Your freedom to burn it, to curse or to drag, Was earned by the ones who carried that flag. Bridge: It ain’t just some cloth, it’s a battlefield shroud, Held by warriors humble, silent, and proud. It was clutched by a kid dyin’ scared in the dirt, Whisperin’ “Mama,” with blood on his shirt. Final Chorus: So next time you gripe ‘bout the state of this land, Remember who held that flag in their hand. It ain’t about politics, race, or a tag— It’s about those who bled when they carried that flag. Outro: Yeah, freedom ain’t free—and it sure ain’t a fad, It’s a gift from the ghosts… Of the ones who carried that flag.
