Robot Killed The Working Man - Zach Bryan
Lyrics by：Zach Bryan
Produced by：Zach Bryan/Jamie McLaughlin/Eddie Spear
"You don't know what hard times are daddy
Hard times are when the textile workers around this country
Are out of work and got four of five kids and can't
Pay their wages can't buy their food hard times are when
The auto workers are out of work and they tell 'em
Go home and hard times are when a man is working a job
30 years 30 years they give him a watch kick him in the
Butt and say 'hey' a computer took your place daddy"
This place don't smell like Winstons and Whiskey no more
The feet don't creep and creak the hard oak of a hard mornings floor
And grandma's old garden ain't what it used to be
There's rats on tomatoes and holes in the leaves
That fell in the yard where granddad parked his car
Before driving us to drive-in's and breaking our hearts
Them quarters quit comin' that engine quit runnin'
And that truck just stayed sittin' with six kids in the kitchen
Even though he was well trained well read and worked hard
The robot killed the working man
Took the nail and hammer right out of his hands
Sealed up the coffin sold off the land
Replaced the good book with machines in their hands
Sooner or later more soon than not
Them home grown tomatoes all ripen and rot
With no rhyme or reason no helping hands
The day the robot killed the working man
This place don't look like what it looked like when I
Was a kid
Can't you see what a giant step for humanity did?
And all of them calluses for palaces built in the sky boy
Mean nothing to the machine on the day the working man
Dies boy
The robot killed the working man
Took the nail and hammer right out of his hands
Sealed up the coffin sold off the land
Replaced the good book with machines in their hands
Sooner or later more soon than not
Them home grown tomatoes all ripen and rot
With no rhyme or reason no protest or stand
The day the robot killed the working man
Brick by brick them mullen boys built this town
Brick by brick them bastards keep tearing me down
There's no one to be angry at every time a working man falls
Just more ads for gambling and more ads for more of it all
The robot killed the working man
Took the nail and hammer right out of his hands
Sealed up the coffin sold off the land
Replaced a good book with machines in their hands
Sooner or later more soon than not
Those home grown tomatoes all ripen and rot
With no rhyme or reason no helping hands
The day the robot killed the working man
