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lyrics

Well farmers just don't get enough respect these days
Even those they feed don't seem to care
Think that they're some better kind of animal
Making money sitting in a chair

Like the guy at the bar, but he pushed me too far
He had muscles that he bought from Golden Gym
His friends all dragged me out into the parking lot
They thought they'd watch him tear me limb from limb

But I stomped on his loafers with my steel toed boots
I kicked him where it doesn't make a sound
I never fought in school, now I've got the tools
And I ain't gonna take it sitting down

Well I leased some land across the vacation home
Of a man who made his fortune selling oil
Just to keep his lawnscaping immaculate
They drained the pond and poisoned all the soil

Well I watered those fields with the sweat of my brow
I barely made enough to pay my crew
He bought that land right out from underneath me
Because my fields were spoiling his view

Well I dragged his Porsche sedan down to the scrap metal yard
I put his private putting green under the plow
He might sell the fuel, Lord, I got the tools
I ain't gonna take it sitting down

Well they repossessed my tractor late the other night
On account of interest that I owe
It seems that I'm the only one who thinks it isn't right
They sit back and reap all that I sow

Well they sent the sheriff over with the paperwork
He moonlights as the banker's hired man
He had his German shepard in his unmarked Ford
He kept his holstered pistol close at hand

But I gave him both the barrels of my irrigation pump
I broke a scuffle hoe across his crown
He might make the rules, Lord, I got the tools
And I don't need a gun to stand my ground

Well my world is made of iron bars and cinderblocks
And the warden says I'll never see the sun
Never smell the earth after a sudden thunderstorm
Never raise a daughter or a son

Well let them break their teeth just chewing on them badges and them bills
Trying to wash it down with a pint of crude
Cause empty plates and starvation awaits
Those who fuck with those who grow their food,
I said empty plates and starvation awaits
Those who fuck with those who grow their food.

credits

from Scavenger's Joy, released February 28, 2015
Written by Owen Lyman-Schmidt
Arranged by Driftwood Soldier

Owen Lyman-Schmidt: Vocals, Mandolin, Suitcase, Coffee Can
Bobby Szafranski: Bass Guitar, Bottle Caps

Recorded and Mixed by Kyle Pulley at The Headroom
Mastered by Jarrod Pedone at Electric Jelly Studio

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Driftwood Soldier Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Driftwood Soldier is no average mandolin-bass foot-stomping gutter-folk duo.

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