Matthew

He works the night shift at the depot

With a pistol and a light

And he guards them rusty missiles

Counting whitetail to pass the time

And he's worked there for a long while

Since he came home from overseas

Helping Kilgore fight the good fight

And bring Baghdad to its knees

And it was hotter than the mountain

But it weren't so he couldn't stand

And it weren't so much the heat wave

Nearly as much as all the sand

Now his daddy, he's a log man

With a good leg and a fake

That he got off of a buddy

And a shitshot that he made

And he worked them hands to splinters

And he raised them young'uns right

On a little bit of scripture

And an acreage of paradise

And he'd go out on the weekend

And he played like Clarence White

If Clarence had had a real job

And picked the guitar when there was time

Keeps a trap line in the winter

Keeps a line wet in the spring

On a lock wall, fishing muskie

With his eldest and Steve

And they swap tales about their raisin'

And they tell the awfulest lies

And they go home when they've a notion

And the muskie quit to bitin'