Blue Mountain

There's children in the water
Down by the sea plane dock
Old man whittling a black bear
Out of a cedar block
Hippies carrying back packs
They got the wings to fly
Lookin’ for a patch of blue
In the iron Adirondack sky
Look around all you see is a stack of stone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

Back there in the city
You’re some kind of wheel
You come up to the country
Try to make some shady deal
You can build your mansion
On the sacred burial ground
Them spirits gonna rise up
Some night burn that baby down
We got ancient blood
And we take care of our own
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

You must have made a wrong turn
You best be movin’ on
Don’t put your feet up boy
Where they don’t belong
You might get into trouble
We’ll take it into town
The judge he won’t be gentle
When he brings his hammer down
You got a call but the
Storm just took out the phone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

You can ride that wild river
Hear the thrushes song
But you got no business here
To tell us right from wrong
I got a pile of old cars
And busted oil tanks
A trail of trash a mile long
Down to the river bank
We only kill what we eat
And we leave nothing but bone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

I’ve seen you at the diner
I’ve seen you at the bar
You always talk too loud
You always push too far
You ought to learn some manners
Show a little more respect
Some of these boys might get upset
And take your ass out back
You got a million friends
How come you’re here all alone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

It’s mighty pretty country
And it all belongs to god
You cut the trees and drain the swamp
And fill it up with sod
Can’t live without your fast food
And you’re picture-in cell phone
What the hell did you come here for
You should have just stayed home
We can live off of spit and a pitch pine cone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

I know you think you’re clever
Been to school and read a book
How come you always look like
A dead fish on a hook
You’ve been to college
But you’re short on common sense
You’re hung up like a scarecrow
On a rusty barb wire fence
On the other side of the twilight zone
That old Blue Mountain
That’s my home

Written by Robert Hazard - © 2004 ASCAP