In a green beret lives her grandfather's ghost,
engrained in the wool his blood is soaked,
she wears it as a fashion hoax,
to tell her friends and blow cigarette smoke.
Still, over the years the hat grows smaller,
but the beret reminds her poor grandfather,
of the overcast days when bombs hit the shore,
the days he forgot what he was fighting for.
The day he left his wife and kids,
to fight and **** innocent pigs.
And this green beret, which he laid down his life,
for the freedom of his granddaughter, his sons, and his wife.