| It’s Christmas time in Washington
|
| The Democrats rehearsed
|
| Getting into gear for four more years
|
| Things not getting worse
|
| The Republicans drink whiskey neat
|
| And thanked their lucky stars
|
| They said, «He cannot seek another term
|
| They’ll be no more FDRs»
|
| And I sat home in Tennessee
|
| Just staring at the screen
|
| With an uneasy feeling in my chest
|
| I’m wondering what it means
|
| So come back, Woody Guthrie
|
| Now, come back to us now
|
| Tear your eyes from paradise
|
| And rise again somehow
|
| If you run into Jesus
|
| Maybe he can help you out
|
| Come back, Woody Guthrie
|
| To us now
|
| I followed in your footsteps once
|
| Back in my traveling days
|
| Somewhere I failed to find your trail
|
| Now I’m stumbling through the haze
|
| But there’s killers on the highway now
|
| And a man can’t get around
|
| So I sold my soul for wheels that roll
|
| Now I’m stuck here in this town
|
| Come back, Woody Guthrie
|
| Come back to us now
|
| Tear your eyes from paradise
|
| And rise again somehow
|
| If you run into Jesus
|
| Maybe he can help us out
|
| Come back, Woody Guthrie
|
| To us now
|
| There’s foxes in the henhouse
|
| Cows out in the corn
|
| The unions have been busted
|
| Their proud red banners torn
|
| To listen to the radio
|
| You’d think that all was well
|
| But you and me and Cisco know
|
| It’s going straight to hell
|
| So come back, Emma Goldman
|
| Rise up, old Joe Hill
|
| The barricades are going up
|
| They cannot break our will
|
| Come back to us, Malcolm X
|
| And Martin Luther King
|
| We’re marching into Selma
|
| As the bells of freedom ring
|
| So come back, Woody Guthrie
|
| Come back to us now
|
| Tear your eyes from paradise
|
| And rise again somehow |