I got to let you go the boss told me Cause there just wasn’t no work to do I put in thirty one years of building Everything they ever told me to He said I ought to try and understand That it really wasn’t because of me It was just the way that these things are In this American economy The working man don’t matter anymore The rich just take whatever they want Folks like us scrape by day to day Making the best with what we’ve got We struggle to do the best we can Living far from any promised land Trying to save the oldest and sickest Praying to cash some lottery ticket Watching the party lights up on the hill Staying hard as stone and ready to kill When you lose all you have earned And you’re broke and nearly broken You look for any reason to stay alive Thinking things that can’t be spoken I’m going to the county where I was born Maybe the family can help me get work Look around for an abandoned double wide Or a half wrecked car off Dead Man’s Curve I told Ruthie last night in the kitchen The bank said be out Wednesday by eight She just sits staring at the table cloth Thinking about what to leave and what to take
