Old-Time Folks (Epilogue)
They walled up that porch like a fort, ran surveillance-camera wire
Neighborhood watch blows up my phone like artillery fire
When kids burn one on the street, old girl builds a fire
Dirt bikes run hot, sub-bass rumbles low
They call the cops on Reverend Hosea Williams, armored in overalls
Sippin' corn with barbershop comrades, unbought and unbossed
They whooped the Klan, damn right, this street bears his name like
Freedom ain't the end of the line, it's a holy old road
Sippin' margaritas by the Black Warrior
He foretells the fall of the border
Stolen land, government overreach, social disorder
Asks the lady with the chips if she can take our order
DeSoto's tongue in Mayan and cracker accents
Granddaddy was a Union man
He voted Wallace a couple shameful times
Breadline-burns on his skin, eviction-sting in his eye
Tried to help sidewalk guys, survive white-flight and redlines
He'd been on the wrong side of that fence
He didn't trust bosses, generals, or presidents
No, he trusted old-time folks
Old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
His teeth gleam, dead eyes shine, hisses in the headset mic
Swings the Bible at the dope-sick, broke, locked-up, not-right
Flicks his tongue at Black rage and queer love
Grins into the lights
He'll throw you in the pit or put you to the lash
Sat in the back pew, hair all wild, britches all torn
Death-wished, gas lit, scripture-whooped, stair-thrown
Hurt and raged, hostage love, snakin' lies, whiskey storms
The pastor smiled as she smudged on the ash
Like, child, the Lord don't make no trash
He just makes old-time folks
Old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're just old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Neighborhood watch blows up my phone like artillery fire
When kids burn one on the street, old girl builds a fire
Dirt bikes run hot, sub-bass rumbles low
They call the cops on Reverend Hosea Williams, armored in overalls
Sippin' corn with barbershop comrades, unbought and unbossed
They whooped the Klan, damn right, this street bears his name like
Freedom ain't the end of the line, it's a holy old road
Sippin' margaritas by the Black Warrior
He foretells the fall of the border
Stolen land, government overreach, social disorder
Asks the lady with the chips if she can take our order
DeSoto's tongue in Mayan and cracker accents
Granddaddy was a Union man
He voted Wallace a couple shameful times
Breadline-burns on his skin, eviction-sting in his eye
Tried to help sidewalk guys, survive white-flight and redlines
He'd been on the wrong side of that fence
He didn't trust bosses, generals, or presidents
No, he trusted old-time folks
Old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
His teeth gleam, dead eyes shine, hisses in the headset mic
Swings the Bible at the dope-sick, broke, locked-up, not-right
Flicks his tongue at Black rage and queer love
Grins into the lights
He'll throw you in the pit or put you to the lash
Sat in the back pew, hair all wild, britches all torn
Death-wished, gas lit, scripture-whooped, stair-thrown
Hurt and raged, hostage love, snakin' lies, whiskey storms
The pastor smiled as she smudged on the ash
Like, child, the Lord don't make no trash
He just makes old-time folks
Old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Yeah, we're just old-time folks
Yeah, we're old-time folks
Credits
Writer(s): Lee Edmundson Iii Bains
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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