It Isn't Theirs

They took my only baseball cap meant the world to me
They took it to the streets, couldn’t sell the thing for free
And I’m just a lonesome country boy traveling around the world with my girl
Now why did they have to go on being so mean to me?
Well
«B» is for Boston, sew the letters red
«C» is for Crime, you know, beat you on the head
And I’d rather they torture me than take my last dime
You can strip me of my clothes, but you can’t strip me of my pride
And you only feel like giving up hanging out to dry
But you always give it one more shot one last try
And you know you ain’t the only one that feels this way, and it’s OK
To have them mean old ripoff blues today
Now if there is a God or Buddha, someone upstairs
I ask you this favor say one last prayer:
«That guy that wears my baseball hat claims to being me
Let instant karma catch him, rob him just like me.»
You only feel like giving up hanging out to dry
Always give it one more shot one last try
And you know you ain’t the only one that feels this way, and it’s OK
Have them mean old, cruel old, I’ve seen better days, ripoff blues today