Palmetto Rose - Jason Isbell

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

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