There's aluminum cans and cigarettes butts
|
Lying in the sides of the streets
|
The baseball field in the County Park
|
Is buried in a blanket of weeds
|
There's a swastika sprayed from an aerosol can
|
Displayed on the overpass
|
Driving around it's easy to see
|
This town's going downhill fast
|
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
How hard could it be
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
Maybe that someone is me
|
|
Followed a couple into Ferguson's Grill
|
The door swung back in my face
|
Closed my eyes but I felt the stares
|
When I bowed my head to say grace
|
Watched a table of suits stiff the waitress a tip
|
Like they didn't have a nickel to spare
|
Walked out into the heat rising off of main street
|
But I felt a chill in the air
|
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
How hard could it be
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
Maybe that someone is me
|
|
Now I don't expect this world to be heaven
|
But it sure could be better
|
I can sit around complaining
|
Or stand around waiting
|
But I might be waiting forever
|
Forever
|
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
How hard could it be
|
Somebody should do something about it
|
Maybe that someone is me
|
|
-----------------
|
Someone Is Me
|
Blaine Larsen |