Spent the day in Santa Cruz. One great thing about Santa Cruz is you can listen to KPIG on the radio. KPIG is a country/ reggae/ Grateful Dead/ folk/ rock/ bluegrass/ hippie/ dope-smoking-redneck-hippie kind of station — playing music that you just will not hear on the kind of corporate Clear Channel-style station that saturates most “markets.” (You’re a “market,” not a person.)

KPIG was the very first radio station on the internet but had to stop when the new royalty rules killed free online radio simulcasts. More on that here. (You can listen online if you have AOL or RealAudio RealPass.)

While we were driving home they played this song by James McMurtry, “We Can’t Make It Here”

Vietnam Vet with a cardboard sign

Sitting there by the left turn line

Flag on the wheelchair flapping in the breeze

One leg missing, both hands free

No one’s paying much mind to him

The V.A. budget’s stretched so thin

And there’s more comin’ home from the Mideast war

We can’t make it here anymore

That big ol’ building was the textile mill

It fed our kids and it paid our bills

But they turned us out and they closed the doors

We can’t make it here anymore

See all those pallets piled up on the loading dock

They’re just gonna set there till they rot

‘Cause there’s nothing to ship, nothing to pack

Just busted concrete and rusted tracks

Empty storefronts around the square

There’s a needle in the gutter and glass everywhere

You don’t come down here ‘less you’re looking to score

We can’t make it here anymore

The bar’s still open but man it’s slow

The tip jar’s light and the register’s low

The bartender don’t have much to say

The regular crowd gets thinner each day

Some have maxed out all their credit cards

Some are workin? two jobs and livin? in cars

Minimum wage won’t pay for a roof, won’t pay for a drink

If you gotta have proof just try it yourself Mr. CEO

See how far 5.15 an hour will go

Take a part time job at one of your stores

Bet you can’t make it here anymore

High school girl with a bourgeois dream

Just like the pictures in the magazine

She found on the floor of the laundromat

A woman with kids can forget all that

If she comes up pregnant what’ll she do

Forget the career, forget about school

Can she live on faith? live on hope?

High on Jesus or hooked on dope

When it’s way too late to just say no

You can’t make it here anymore

Wow I’m stocking shirts in the Wal-Mart store

Just like the ones we made before

‘Cept this one came from Singapore

I guess we can’t make it here anymore

Should I hate a people for the shade of their skin

Or the shape of their eyes or the shape I’m in

Should I hate ’em for having our jobs today

No I hate the men sent the jobs away

I can see them all now, they haunt my dreams

All lily white and squeaky clean

They’ve never known want, they’ll never know need

Their shit don’t stink and their kids won’t bleed

Their kids won’t bleed in the damn little war

And we can’t make it here anymore

Will work for food

Will die for oil

Will kill for power and to us the spoils

The billionaires get to pay less tax

The working poor get to fall through the cracks

Let ’em eat jellybeans let ’em eat cake

Let ’em eat shit, whatever it takes

They can join the Air Force, or join the Corps

If they can’t make it here anymore

And that’s how it is

That’s what we got

If the president wants to admit it or not

You can read it in the paper

Read it on the wall

Hear it on the wind

If you’re listening at all

Get out of that limo

Look us in the eye

Call us on the cell phone

Tell us all why

In Dayton, Ohio

Or Portland, Maine

Or a cotton gin out on the great high plains

That’s done closed down along with the school

And the hospital and the swimming pool

Dust devils dance in the noonday heat

There’s rats in the alley

And trash in the street

Gang graffiti on a boxcar door

We can’t make it here anymore

You can download this song here for free!