Hot lead flying on a Sunday morning;
They came at us without warning.
We grabbed our guns and the battle was on;
It won’t be long before we are all gone.

We Lived With Our Boots On

By Allen Richey



We are fathers, sons, Patriots, too;

They call us Rebels, but what can we do?
They want our land and everything we own;
Even every seed of corn we have sown.

    



We really never wanted to make this choice,
But, Lord, they won’t listen to our voice.
We wait, we hope and pray,
But it just gets worse every day.
If our own children can freely carry on,
Some will have to die
With their boots on.



     We laid our lives on the line, time after time;
     But this time it looks like the last one.
          One thing we can say,
          Is, to our dying day,
     We lived with our boots on.