My Grandma’s more punk than most punks I know
You might not believe it by the look of her clothes
If you asked her directly she’d politely say no
My Grandma’s more punk than you know
Money’s never grown on the trees in her yard
Gets by with what she has and she’s had to work hard
Waste not, want not and cook your own food
If you keep your hands busy, you won’t get the blues
When you’re busy, you don’t get the blues
CHORUS
Old coats and jackets in brown garbage bags
Stored in the attic and out of the way
Ripped up and fed through a sewing machine
The quota’s a quilt for each loved one in need
A quilt for each loved one in need
CHORUS
Many o’ times she’s been almost knocked down
Fools and fast talkers try to push her around
She stands steady like the trunk of a tree
Her roots they are many, her roots they are deep
Her roots they are many and deep
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