My Old Man

P.J.M. Bond

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P.J.M. Bond


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My old man, I can still see his hands, holding on to the reins of his horse from the racetrack stands
They did him in, like they all do us in, in the end there'll be no one left but crooks and a bunch of thieves
My old man

My old man, drops of sweat in the sand, just a steeplechase jockey from Kentucky in another race
Our heroes fall, don't they all? But Gilford and my dad, they didn't do nothing wrong at all
My old man

The shot ringed clear, in the cool spring air, there was death and blood and cries of anguish flying all around the track
Life will break us, it will spit in your face, I'll be damned if I didn't see it happen with my own eyes
My old man, my old man, my old man
My old man

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Written by: Paul Bond

Lyrics © DistroKid

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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