Continental Counterfeit

Lyrics

Valley Forge is quiet now.
The snow don't care about a revolution.
Just falls.
And in my hand, a piece of paper.
Signed by men I'm supposed to trust.

I remember when it first came 'round.
Looked like hope.
Ben Franklin put a leaf on it, so no one could fake the grain.
Said this here paper's a promise.
A down payment on a country.
Payable on demand.
We took it for flour, for powder, for boots that fell apart by spring.
Traded sweat and blood for ink and rag.

But across the water, Sir Henry Clinton smiles.
His presses in New York hum a different tune.
And the warships land, not with soldiers, but with lies.
Bales of paper, perfect and poison.
And the promise ain't worth a Continental.
No, it ain't worth a Continental.

Saw a man in the market, December '77.
Held out a stack of bills for a side of beef.
The butcher just laughed.
Pointed to the broadside nailed to the post.
General Washington writes home… says a wagon-load of money…
Won't buy you a wagon-load of bread.
And the paper in your pocket feels colder than the wind.
Same pictures. Same words.
Just the belief got wrung right out of it.

'Cause across the water, Sir Henry Clinton smiles.
His presses in New York hum a different tune.
And the warships land, not with soldiers, but with lies.
Bales of paper, perfect and poison.
And the promise ain't worth a Continental.
No, it ain't worth a Continental.

Winter of '80.
We ran out of wood.
Mary took a handful of Continentals from the chest.
Didn't say a word.
Just fed 'em to the fire, one by one.
The face of liberty turning to grey ash.
Rising up the chimney.
Gave us about five minutes of heat.
Best deal we'd had all year.

A state-sponsored lie.
Shipped in on the tide.
Leaves a hole in your soul a country wide.
Not worth a Continental.
Not worth a thing.