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Jason Isbell
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Palmetto Rose
Palmetto rose in the A/C vent
Cross-stitch pillow where the headrest went
Said his cab was his orneriest friend
Left hand jumping the trees in the wind
Thought he had the red lights memorized
Glass in the gravel like the stars in the sky
In that slow-motion minute between living and dead
He looked in my eyes and he told me, he said
It's war that I wage to get up every day
It's a fiberglass boat, it's azaleas in May
It's the women I love and the law that I hate
But Lord, let me die in the Iodine State
Lord, let me die in the Iodine State
Palmetto rose in the sidewalk mud
Dirty white stem and a big green bud
Catch them coming out of a King Street store
Some bullshit story about the Civil War
Now, you can believe what you want to believe
But there ain't no making up a basket weave
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Everybody in the tri-county knows
Who makes the best palmetto rose
And it's war that we wage to get up every day
It's a basket of sweetgrass, a wedding bouquet
It's the ladies I love and the law that I hate
But Lord, let me die in the Iodine State
Lord, let me die in the Iodine State
Out on Sullivan's Island, they're swimming
On the beach where the big boats rolled in
With the earliest slaves and their children
Our first American kin
Here on King Street we're selling our roses
Two for a five dollar bill
At night, after everything closes
I follow my own free will
And I take in my fill
I take in my fill
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