THE HARD WAY HOME

Lyrics

[Intro] (The sound of a screen door slamming shut, followed by the slow, metallic "clink-clink" of a socket wrench. A low, vibrating 808 sub-bass drops like a bomb, and a filthy, low-tuned electric guitar plays a raw, bluesy slide riff. A gospel choir starts a low, mournful hum in the background.) [Verse 1] The probation officer’s checking his watch on a Tuesday afternoon In a cinderblock office that smells like floor wax and cheap perfume. He looks at my drug screen, looks at the ink on my rough-cut hands Says, "You're doing alright for a boy who just got off the state's dry lands." But he don't see the midnight shakes, or the stack of the bills on the table Trying to feed three kids on a paycheck from a boss who thinks I ain't able. I spent thirty-six months eating cold gravy out of a metal tin Now I’m back in the trailer park, trying to learn how to breathe again. The repo man is cruising the block, looking for my rusted-out truck And the preacher on the radio is talking 'bout grace, but I just need some damn luck. [Chorus] But you can’t kill a man who’s already walked through the fire We’re the ones who survived the rope and the jagged barb-wire! Yeah, we’re the broken-hearted, the hard-luck souls, the forgotten names Picking up our lives in the pouring down south Georgia rain. From the needle’s bite to the county site, to the knuckles turned black and blue We’re the second-chance soldiers doing what we gotta do. Yeah, the world’s gonna hit you right where the bruises grow But we’re taking the long, raw, hard way home. [Verse 2] Mama used to pray behind a locked bathroom door at night Trying to hide the split in her lip from my daddy's Friday night fight. I learned how to hate before I ever learned how to drive a stick And I took that anger and shoved it down a pipe until it made me sick. Spent a decade chasing a ghost through a tiny white plastic bag Waking up in ditch-water, waving a white surrender flag. But I looked at the scars on my wrists and the tracks on my inner arm And I swore to the sky I was done doing myself and my babies harm. It ain't a country club story, it’s a dogfight in the red clay dirt Learning how to clean up your name while you’re still living inside the hurt. [Hook / Refrain] (The guitars cut out completely. It’s just a massive, syncopated 808 thump and rapid-fire trap hi-hats. The vocal gets fast, aggressive, and rhythmic.) Taste the copper on your tongue? That’s the fight just getting begun. They put the handcuffs on your past, But they can't make the prison last. Stand up. Face the front. Take the blow and take the brunt. [Bridge] (The tempo slows down. A soulful Hammond B3 organ swells like a Sunday morning service. A gritty, emotional female gospel singer takes the background.) (Choir: Lord, have mercy on the dirt...) I’ve been the victim, I’ve been the thief in the night. (Choir: Bring the sinner to the light...) I’ve stood in the dark, and I’ve begged for a piece of the light. But the sun don't care about a felony charge or a broken home It’s gonna rise tomorrow anyway, so you better get your boots back on. (Guitar Solo: A blistering, emotional, feedback-heavy Southern rock solo that sounds like a scream of victory.) [Chorus] ‘Cause you can’t kill a man who’s already walked through the fire We’re the ones who survived the rope and the jagged barb-wire! Yeah, we’re the broken-hearted, the hard-luck souls, the forgotten names Picking up our lives in the pouring down south Georgia rain. From the needle’s bite to the county site, to the knuckles turned black and blue We’re the second-chance soldiers doing what we gotta do. Yeah, the world’s gonna hit you right where the bruises grow But we’re taking the long, raw, hard way home. [Outro] (The heavy 808 beat slows to a crawl, sounding like heavy boots walking down a gravel road. The slide guitar moans quietly.) Yeah, the hard way home. No handouts. No pity. Just twenty bucks in my pocket and a clean drug patch. We’re still here. You can’t bury what’s already survived the grave. Keep your head up, brother. We ain't done yet. (Sound of a lighter flicking open, a deep drag, and the heavy thud of a front door locking shut. Silence.)