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Freedom is a Son of a GunMy home county's got a hundred porcheseach one of them's an oakwood fortressguarded by a twelve gauge and a mangy houndand I remember my great uncledrinkin' grain...feelin' disgruntledcos of what was happenin' in townthe new mayor was bannin' gunsthe vote was comin' next monthmy uncle said if that's what the people wantthen I'll go alongbut it's not something I likeso while I can I'll fightbut when the people speak the job is donecos the few are allowed their saybut when the many get their waysometimes freedom is a son of a gunwell, the mayor called a big town meetingmy uncle wasn't much on talking or readingbeing just simple farm bred manbut he stood and told that legislaturethat it's damn well human naturefor a man to defend his home and landhe ignored the sign on the walllit a smoke in front of 'em allthen the whole room rose to his sidecos he spoke for their rightssayin' it's not something I likeso while I can I'll fightand when the people speak the job is donecos the few are allowed their saybut when the many get their waysometimes freedom is a son of a gunhe still sips whiskey outside his shackwith his hound and sawed-off in his laphe says when this nation was formedthere were bullets when liberty was borncos freedom is a son of a gunfreedom is a son of a gun(c)2006 Robert George