091

Lyrics

(Verse 1)
The revenue man, he had a silver star
And a nose for the mash from a mile or far.
He caught me up in the Smoky mist,
With a copper worm and a shackled wrist.
The judge said, “Son, it’s a heavy price,
Or a boat ride out to the Eastern rice.
Swap that jug for a Krag-Jørgensen gun,
And we’ll wipe the slate when the war is done.”
​(Chorus)
From the Holston River to the Tartar Wall,
I’m a long way from home, standing five-foot-tall.
The Boxer drums are a-thumping loud,
Underneath a yellow, sulfur cloud.
I traded the moon for the Peking sun,
And a life of sin for a soldier’s gun.
Oh, Lord, I’m thirsty, and the well is dry,
In the Legation Quarter where the brave men die.
​(Verse 2)
The heat’s a hammer, the air is thick,
The smell of the sewers is making me sick.
Fifty-five days in this brick-walled cage,
With the Empress Dowager in a royal rage.
I’m digging trenches in the garden mud,
Watching the lilies get stained with blood.
The British are stoic, the Russians are cold,
And I’m just a hillbilly bought and sold.
​(Verse 3)
I used to watch the fireflies dance,
Now I watch the fire of the Boxer lance.
They say they’re spirits that lead can’t kill,
But they ain’t met a boy from a Tennessee hill.
I can clip a squirrel from a hundred yards,
Now I’m sniping snipers and pulling guards.
I’d give my soul for a jar of shine,
To dull the roar of the Krupp-gun line.
​(Bridge)
At night, it gets quiet, and the spirits walk,
I hear the ghosts of the mountain talk.
They ask me why I’m a world away,
Fighting a war for a debt I can’t pay.
Is a free man a man who’s forced to roam?
Or am I just a prisoner, further from home?
​(Verse 4)
The relief is coming, or so they say,
But the red-ribboned banners won't fade away.
The Ch’ien Men Gate is a jagged tooth,
And the "Righteous Fists" are seeking the truth.
I’m low on powder, I’m thin on bread,
With a price of a pardon on top of my head.
If a bullet finds me in this foreign sand,
Bury me deep in the timber land.
​(Chorus)
From the Holston River to the Tartar Wall,
I’m a long way from home, standing five-foot-tall.
The Boxer drums are a-thumping loud,
Underneath a yellow, sulfur cloud.
I traded the moon for the Peking sun,
And a life of sin for a soldier’s gun.
Oh, Lord, I’m thirsty, and the well is dry,
In the Legation Quarter where the brave men die.
​(Outro)
Keep your medals, keep your grace,
Just get me out of this godforsaken place.
Back to the hollow, back to the still...
Away from the fire on the Peking hill.
Yeah, away from the fire...
Just a moonshine boy...
In a world on fire.