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photo by Jason Reiser

Dave Carter
August 13, 1952 - July 19, 2002

Don't Tread On Me

© 1997 Dave Carter / Dave Carter Music (BMI)

red dog runnin down a long black road
nose to the gravel, license to travel
he don't care if it's your place or my place
whole human race got just one face in his case

up on the mountain sits a sleepy old coot
rifle on his shoulder, pistol in his boot
bottle in one hand, bible in the other
no-count rebel, baby he's my brother

ethyl in the gas tank, chicken on the farm
semper fidelis on my good right arm
Elvis blastin on the color tv
i'm a U.S. male, dontcha tread on me

johnny's in the attic writin automatic
talkin emphatic about the bureaucratic static
jungle, low-pay high-rent
Bob's on the pavement thinkin bout the government

so go where you gotta, do what you will
but it's another workin day up on capitol hill
boozin cruisin snoozin and usin
but somebody's winnin, somebody's losin

one pound of flesh and a gallon of sweat
just your daily payment on the national debt
but all God's children got a right to be free,
mister state trooper don't tread on me

seems we live and die in a crossfire hurricane
in the rain but "no pain, no gain." the sign explains
still Jesse James in his coat of flames
held up their one-way gravy train
"nothin to lose but your workin blues
and your chains," the man with no name claims

well i figure i'll make me a sign of my own
take the stars and stripes and the skull and bones
and the cross of Jesus and a golden crown
and the serpent that bites when the boot grinds down

tie it all together with a fine silk cord from
the rusty antenna of my '63 ford
now look over yonder, son, tell me whatcha see
that's the flag of freedom, dontcha tread on me

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