The Cigarette in the Yard

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Before the Warden posted up the signs in twenty-oh-four...
Before the air got clean and quiet, and nothin' smelled like before...
This whole damn world, it ran on paper tubes of nicotine.
The richest man among us was the one with lungs stained mean.
You could smell the money burnin' out on the yard.
A hundred flickerin' lighters in the dark, playin' every card.
A Newport was a promise, hard and true.
A Marlboro was a bond between me and you.
Every man with a carton tucked inside his locker was a king, 'til his time was through.

[Chorus]
It wasn't about the smoke, you understand. It was never just the smoke.
It was the heft of twenty chances in your hand. The word somebody spoke.
A twenty-count of trust, a loosie for a friend in need.
The only bank we had that wasn't built on simple greed.
Yeah, the cigarette was law, the only creed.

[Verse 2]
I saw a man trade a Camel Light for a stamp to write his son.
Saw two loosies buy a silence when a dirty deed was done.
A pack could get your laundry folded neat and pressed.
Or buy you half a night of knowin' you could get some rest.
We had bankers who were smokers, lenders with a cough.
And the interest was a killer, shave another filter off.
Five for six tomorrow, that's the price you paid.
For a little bit of comfort, in the sorry mess you made.

[Chorus]
It wasn't about the smoke, you understand. It was never just the smoke.
It was the heft of twenty chances in your hand. The word somebody spoke.
A twenty-count of trust, a loosie for a friend in need.
The only bank we had that wasn't built on simple greed.
Yeah, the cigarette was law, the only creed.

[Bridge]
Then came the last night of December. The air was cold and thin.
They scrubbed the yellow stains right off the walls we were all in.
The commissary window, it went bare behind the glass.
And a whole damn economy just let the moment pass.
A whole damn world went broke without a single sound.
Just men with empty pockets, pacing useless ground.

[Outro]
Now they trade in foil pouches of mackerel, I hear.
They count their debts in instant noodles, paid in sweat and fear.
But a fish, it ain't a promise. A noodle ain't a vow.
There's nothin' left to burn to prove you're honest, anyhow.
Just the ghost of that old smoke... climbin' up the wall right now.