I was raised on grits and Jesus, my country wrong or right
Just a poor North Georgia farm boy, scared to death and quick to fight
Mother said, He's born to trouble, Father said, Low down and mean
So I joined up in the army soon as I turned seventeen
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
In a place I'd never heard of, that they call El Salvador
Where the mountains look like home and the fields all smell of war
They may say we're just advisors, wash their hands of all the dead
But when you see the things we're doing, Lord it's hard to turn your head
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
I was proud to be a soldier, I was proud to hold a gun
But there's a difference between fighting and just shooting people down
Well I will never be a preacher, but I do know wrong from right
And a war against poor farmers - that ain't no war I want to fight
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
Just a poor North Georgia farm boy, scared to death and quick to fight
Mother said, He's born to trouble, Father said, Low down and mean
So I joined up in the army soon as I turned seventeen
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
In a place I'd never heard of, that they call El Salvador
Where the mountains look like home and the fields all smell of war
They may say we're just advisors, wash their hands of all the dead
But when you see the things we're doing, Lord it's hard to turn your head
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
I was proud to be a soldier, I was proud to hold a gun
But there's a difference between fighting and just shooting people down
Well I will never be a preacher, but I do know wrong from right
And a war against poor farmers - that ain't no war I want to fight
Won't you send me back to Georgia
Before I fight another day
Let the water from the mountains
Wash the bloodstains all away
×
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.