Don’t look for footprints
Fingerprints, carpet fibers.
No special rope knots or
Casts of tires.
No investigation of blatant liars.
You gotta look at the truth.
Bin hunting me since my youth.
Long hair kick me outa my troop.
Coulda bin a good soldier with long hair.
Marchin’ lead good boy budday don’t care.
Then I clue in get more aware.
Few folks thinkin’ they dinkin’
All around, every town.
Fuckin’ us all without blinkin’.
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