Dollar Short

I wish I wasn't on this building layin' brick by brick, gainin' aches without good pay and makin' myself sick.

I could tell you that the oil fields smell like blood & gasoline.

Rig up, rig down, all damn day, just strippin' the land clean.

And a taxman and a banker come to take my land away.

I guess I was a couple dollars short and a few days late.

Give me some Highwaymen to ease my pain, or some comin' down sideways Texas rain, give me copperline hidin' in the red-mud clay, give me a six-gun, man, give me George Strait;

Or a pine-wood floor in a smoke-filled bar, or a wrap-around porch and an old guitar,

Give me lightnin' bugs and a midnight train, or a broken heart with no one to blame.

And to my brothers overseas, I hope ya all make it back home.

But I hate that you're stuck in the first place over there fightin' a rich man's war.