Down by the courthouse there stands a stone soldier,
   looking tall and proud in grey.
For 140 years he's been unflinching,
   "He's always been there," the old men say.
But I wonder what he must be thinking,
   looking over the land he fought to save.

His memory is now held distant,
   and his flag is held in scorn.
He's called a bigot and a racist,
   for defending the land where he was born.
Truth be told, he knew no hatred,
   truth be told, his heart was torn.
It was for loving dear old Dixie,
   he lay down his life one cold December morn.

Down by the courthouse there stands a stone soldier,
   and forever he'll stay there watching.
Proudly reminding all of us everyday,
   of the heroes of our Southland,
Who for our faith and freedom,
   the ultimate price they bravely paid.