Hillbilly’s Lament

Let me tell you my story, the only one I ever wrote
Of how I grew up poor in a little town called Ford, and how I learned to vote
My dad worked at the power plant, when the coal trains still rolled in
And the whistle blew him off to work, just to wreck his back again
So he said “who’s gonna stand for the little man… lord lord?”
He cast his vote with pride for the union side.

Well I went to work down at the plant, when I learned college was not for me
And momma stayed at home all day, watching her stories on TV
Where all she saw is what others had, and what they had we had not.
Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s the only thing we’ve got.
She said “this town, could use a little trickle down… lord lord”
Cast her vote with fear, from all the news she hears.

I still live in the house where I was born, though mom and dad are both gone
And that whistle it no longer blows its shrill and mournful song
Looking around well all I see is just endless poverty
While the people we give power to, look a lot less and less like me.
So what are you going to do, when the world don’t look like you no more
Cast your vote to say “let’s get it back that way… lord lord.”

November 9, 2016, I heard the news on the TV
So I walked that old trestle bridge down to the banks of Otter Creek
Sat in the sun with my fishing pole, now all I’ve got to do is wait
It won’t be long, ‘till a fish is on, and my country will be great
Like in them olden days… like in them golden days… long gone