Brown Boots

This is an ode to the working man. We spend so much time propping up celebrities and athletes but completely forget the people working their ass off behind the scenes to make life easier for us in one way or another. Lyrics: Eyelids feel like anvils in his sweat stained sheets Another morning came too damn soon And his rusty knees are creaking like his old box spring bed Rising to the another week of sweat And through the highs and lows the only ones who ever know are those brown boots and they’re wearing thin If those boots could talk tell of how he walked the walk no complaints, no violins Another day of busting ass a punching bag for the upper class and those talking head whores that are bought and paid for Invisible to a public eye hypnotized to only recognize the spoon fed drama from an unreality show And through the highs and lows the only ones who ever know are those brown boots and they’re wearing thin If those boots could talk tell of how he walked the walk no complaints, no violins He's walking on a treadmill with a hole in his pocket how on earth can he ever get ahead Without his old guitar, his better half and the local bar He's dynamite waiting to explode And through the highs and lows the only ones who ever know are those brown boots and they’re wearing thin If those boots could talk tell of how he walked the walk no complaints, no violins