Lyrics

Turn on the TV, same old fight
Blue states day and the Red states night
Got a donkey kickin', an elephant roarin'
While my leaky roof just keeps on pourin'
They promise you the moon up in the sky
But the price of bread just keeps on high
My neighbor's yelling 'bout some culture war
I'm just wondering what I'm working for

So how am I supposed to pick a team?
Livin' out this broken-down American dream
My boots are muddy and my hands are raw
I'm stuck in the middle of a two-man saw
Yeah, there's nowhere left to stand, no nowhere left to stand
Just a guitar and calloused hands

The folks online have lost their minds
Drawing battle lines of a dozen kind
They're angry 'bout some coffee cup or book
While the billionaire just takes another look
At his stock report, he's doing grand
While I'm patching holes across this land
A two-by-four and a rusty nail
Feels like a story from a fairy tale

So how am I supposed to pick a team?
Livin' out this broken-down American dream
My boots are muddy and my hands are raw
I'm stuck in the middle of a two-man saw
Yeah, there's nowhere left to stand, no nowhere left to stand
Just a guitar and calloused hands

They talk about a house with a picket fence
But the down payment just don't make no sense
So I'll sit right here on this porch step, son
And play my blues 'til the morning comes
Maybe the answer ain't in red or blue
Maybe it's just in me and you

So how are we supposed to pick a team?
Livin' out this broken-down American dream
Our boots are muddy and our hands are raw
We're stuck in the middle of a two-man saw
Yeah, there's nowhere left to stand, no nowhere left to stand
Just a guitar and calloused hands