[Intro] (piano and glockenspiel, snare rolls in) [Verse 1] Two-thousand-eight, the whole world came down slow Man named Mynul had a map and a place to go Too many middlemen standing in the way So he built a nation out of Minnesota clay Where the work is real and the hands are true And a tech in the field gets his honest due [Pre-Chorus] From the cables to the counters, from the towers to the door Somebody's gotta show up — that's what we're here for [Chorus] We're a Field Nation! Boots on the ground! A million work orders and we turn 'em all around Eighty thousand strong and we answer every call Ninety-eight percent — we don't drop the ball We ain't punching somebody else's clock We build careers on our own block On our own terms, in our own time On our own terms — the future's yours and mine! [Verse 2] Seven thousand buyers post the job by dawn Provider Match is running, Auto Dispatch is on Point of sale in Denver, network up in Maine Success Score climbing like a runaway train No stack of middlemen taking half your pay Insurance and the taxes handled the honest way [Pre-Chorus] From the cables to the counters, from the towers to the door Six hundred thousand sites — and we're going back for more [Chorus] We're a Field Nation! Boots on the ground! A million work orders and we turn 'em all around Eighty thousand strong and we answer every call Ninety-eight percent — we don't drop the ball We ain't punching somebody else's clock We build careers on our own block On our own terms, in our own time On our own terms — the future's yours and mine! [Bridge] (breakdown, just piano and voice, then sax builds) Nobody handed us a thing, no We showed up in the rain, in the heat, in the cold Every ticket closed is a promise that we keep Every site we cover is a mile before we sleep And now the city's on the fiftieth floor tonight And we're gonna build the next thing right... [Sax Solo] [Final Chorus] We're a Field Nation! (whoa-oh!) Boots on the ground! (whoa-oh!) A million work orders and we turn 'em all around On our own terms, in our own time On our own terms — the future's yours and mine! [Outro] (gang vocals, fading) Whoa-oh... Field Nation... Whoa-oh... on our own terms... (one last glockenspiel hit)
