The Old Gray Uniform

Folded and tucked away in a wooden drawer
Lays an old tattered suit of gray
Blood and mud has long stained its color
From a battlefield where the soldier lay

Once he fought for his native land
To protect her purity from uncouth invaders
He battled courageously against blue bellies—
Men who were freedom-haters

Now his uniform lays forlorn
There's not much occasion to take it out
The sight of it usually brings tears
Memories of a bloody bout

The soldier's back was once young and strong
But now he's bent with age
He will never forget the Southern struggle
Of warring against a tyrant's rage

He was once the emblem of the South
Young, strong, and fervently proud
But now he's a forgotten old man
Whose voice is not so loud

Yet he is still just as proud
He still walks with a firm step
His old musket, though a mockery to some
Will always shadow his doorstep

His gray uniform once had a purpose
To fight Liberty's battle
But now—forgotten like its wearer
Is thrown into the mud by prattle

The old gray uniform is an emblem
Of a glory forever long gone
Of a day when the man was young
And his gun was drawn

The old gray uniform is still in battle
Of fighting evil invaders
Men who don't understand liberty
Wicked men who are God-haters