| The ole man stand by the lone chute, he sold his calves t’day.
|
| He spits in the dust between his boots, as the semi pulls away.
|
| The slick blue check in his grimy hands, shoves down in his coat.
|
| It won’t make the payment on the land, or pay the interst on the note.
|
| Oh… it's hard, hard times…
|
| He’s a young man with a loving wife, 2 children and a home.
|
| Plans to build a better life, and put a mortagage on his own.
|
| He lost his job when the boom went bust, still got bills to pay.
|
| Now he’s pickin’up cans in the roadside dust, she’s at the Feed-Rack
|
| cafe.
|
| Oh… it's hard, hard times…
|
| Now the ole grey banker sits behind his desk, beneath a worried frown.
|
| Of the tangled mess of some good folks goin’down.
|
| He’s known some of 'em for 30 years, and some point the finger of blame.
|
| An’no one sees his tears, except the one who shares his name.
|
| Oh… it's hard, hard times…
|
| Oh… it's hard, hard times… |