We Can't Make it Here

by James McMurtry

There's a Vietnam vet with a cardboard signSitting there by the left turn lineThe flag on his wheelchair flapping in the breezeOne leg missing and both hands free
No one's paying much mind to himThe V.A. budget's just stretched so thinAnd now there' s more coming back from the Mideast warWe can't make it here anymore
And that big ol' building was the textile millThat fed our kids and it paid our billsBut they turned us out and they closed the doors'Cause we can' t make it here anymore
You see those pallets piled up on the loading dockThey're just gonna sit there 'til they rot'Cause there's nothing to ship, nothing to packJust busted concrete and rusted tracks
Empty storefronts around the squareThere's a needle in the gutter and glass everywhereYou don't come down here unless you're looking to scoreWe can't make it here anymore
The bar's still open but man it' s slowThe tip jar's light and the register' s lowThe bartender don't have much to sayThe regular crowd gets thinner each day
Some have maxed out all their credit cardsSome are working two jobs and living in carsMinimum wage won't pay for a roof, won't pay for a drinkIf you gotta have proof just try it yourself, Mr. CEOSee how far $5.15 an hour will goTake a part time job at one your storesI bet you can't make it here anymore
There's a high school girl with a bourgeois dreamJust like the pictures in the magazineShe found on the floor of the laundromatA woman with kids can forget all that
If she comes up pregnant what'll she doForget the career and forget about schoolCan she live on faith? Live on hope?High on Jesus or hooked on dopeWhen it's way too late to just say noYou can't make it here anymore
Now I'm stocking shirts in the Wal-Mart storeJust like the ones we made before'Cept this one came from SingaporeI guess we can't make it here anymore
Should I hate a people for the shade of their skinOr the shape of their eyes or the shape I'm inShould I hate 'em for having our jobs todayNo, I hate the men sent the jobs away
I can see them all now, they haunt my dreamsAll lily white and squeaky cleanThey've never known want, they'll never know needTheir shit don't stink and their kids won't bleedTheir kids won't bleed in their damn little warAnd we can't make it here anymore
Will work for food, will die for oilWill kill for power, and to us the spoilsThe billionaires get to pay less taxThe working poor get to fall through the cracks
So let 'em eat jellybeans let 'em eat cakeLet 'em eat shit, whatever it takesThey can join the Air Force or join the CorpsIf they can't make it here anymore
So that's how it is, that's what we gotIf the president wants to admit it or notYou can read it in the paper, read it on the wallHear it on the wind if you're listening at allGet out of that limo, look us in the eyeCall us on the cell phone, tell us all why
In Dayton, Ohio or Portland, MaineOr a cotton gin out on the great high plainsThat's done closed down, along with the schoolAnd the hospital, and the swimming pool
Dust devils dance in the noonday heatThere's rats in the alley and trash in the streetGang graffiti on a boxcar doorWe can't make it here anymore
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: James Mc Murtry

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Two Stories: a Christian Bible and a Jewish Magazine that Make for Bad Religion

Image
"Here I stand: I can do no otherwise: God help me!" -M. Luther image: Wikipedia This post has evolved, over a number of weeks, into a morass of a critique, taking on two venerable and very different foundational literary establishments, the King James Bible and the popular religious press.  It might seem quite unwieldy to make critical judgments about these two things in the same place at the same time but read on, perhaps the focus will sharpen.  We will tiptoe around theology and scholarship, in hopes that we trample neither but that our own footsteps are rightly placed between those two towering hedges. Since my most recent post,  (https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/1797607806021886628/3655238780916104218), regarding the mistranslation of a verse in Isaiah which caused a theological storm of invectives, lies, accusations, and a highly un-Christian (at least in the name) level of violence which would seem to be quite excessive until we consider that the question raised
Read more

Who Wrote the Bible Anyway?

Image
  Image: Our Savior Lutheran Church I suppose that most of us who attended Sunday School or Hebrew School as children at some point wondered who actually wrote the books that were compiled into what we refer to as The Bible.  I do not remember much about what we were taught but have a vague recollection that we were taught that Moses wrote the Old Testament, that the disciples, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John wrote the Gospels, and the Apostle Paul wrote the Epistles.  It was pretty simple.   Image:  Amazon There were many Bible-story books and some pretty good stories.  None of the chronology or geography came into the picture, however.  It seems that the adults did not think it was important or more likely that they had no idea about these things. If you start asking too many questions, Sunday School teachers get very nervous.  I suppose I was an adult when I first seriously asked myself who actually wrote these books and how they were put together. The answers were enlightening. For t
Read more
Image
This post contains the preface to the book I am working on.  I will publish other parts as we go.  AL L comments are appreciated. Please note that I do not defend nor debate my opinions.     When I was in the fifth grade, a girl named Norma sat next to me in band.   She was the only other tenor sax player in the grade school band, so we were probably destined to become either friends or enemies.   A cautious friendship/rivalry began to emerge since we were not comfortable with those other two choices.   We fought like brothers and sisters but we never really meant to be mean and we truly had mutual respect and affection.   There was nothing especially remarkable about Norma.   She was pretty, thin, and loud, and at that age, all knees and elbows and teeth.   The most distinguishing thing about her in my mind was that she was Jewish.   Far a ten-year-old Alabama boy who, in 1959, had been transported from the less-than-modern thinking of my home state of Alabama to an experimental
Read more