The Lost Cause - Legendary Shack Shakers, Mark Robertson, J.D. Wilkes

A company of skeletons in rags

March home under tattered white flags

Dusty Bibles and deep empty pockets

Dark dreams and deeper eye sockets

We ain’t right in the head, and our women lay dead

We’re the losers who chose The Lost Cause

But home wasn’t built in a day

It’s the hard price of pride that we pay

No more cornbread, culture, or cotton

And nothing here grows but fingernails in our coffins

Old warriors tell ghost stories, old ghosts tell war stories

Such is the case, The Lost Cause

No government, cheese, and no cow

Just acres of skulls and a plough

But Bluegrass, we’ve grown used to you

Like tree roots grows through a rusty old shoe

Now our bright, sunny South, tastes copper in the mouth

No, we’ll never forget our Lost Cause

And the vulturous picking at bones

Lone chimneys like headstones for homes

Make those tattered white flags that hung at half-mast

Beat red with the blood sucked up through the staff

From the dirt where they plant us

«Sic Semper Tyrannis!»

May we one day avenge our Lost Cause