Now, I ain’t the smartest feller ever set foot in a holler, but even a half-blind coonhound knows when somethin’ smells rotten, and buddy, this here reeks worse than a possum carcass on a July road. Ain’t no surprise what happens when the big men on the hill start rattlin’ their sabers and barkin’ orders ‘bout who gets to stay and who gets run outta town. Ain’t never been the man in the fancy boots what suffers, neither—always the ones workin’ sunup to sundown, never takin’ nothin’ that wasn’t earned, just tryin’ to keep food on the table while the folks who ain’t never broke a sweat decide their fate.

I seen this kinda thing before, yessir. The sheriff don’t come ‘round when the bank’s takin’ yer granddaddy’s farm, don’t show up when the mill man slashes wages, but you let a feller stand up and holler ‘bout how unfair it is, and all of a sudden here come the boys in blue with their batons and their beanbag guns, ready to keep order. Now I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ outright, but if y’all ever noticed how the rules always seem to land harder on folks without a lawyer or a pile o’ cash in their pocket, well, you might just be startin’ to see what’s what.

What gets me, though, is how some folks cheer for the boot that’s stompin’ ‘em down. Like a rooster in the henhouse helpin’ the farmer count eggs, happy to be useful ‘til he realizes he’s just a meal waitin’ to happen. Y’all ever wonder why it’s always the poor man fightin’ another poor man over crumbs, while the feller ownin’ the whole loaf just sits back and watches? Keep us bickerin’ and scrapin’, and we’ll never stop to wonder why we gotta fight for scraps in the first place.

Now, I know some folks think the law is the law, and rules is rules. But I’ll tell you what my granddaddy told me: “Ain’t no such thing as a fair fight when one man got a shotgun and the other got a rock.” And it sure do seem like some folks got a whole armory while others ain’t even got a slingshot.

Way I see it, ain’t a man alive what don’t deserve the right to work a day’s labor and get a day’s wage, to raise his young’uns without fear o’ gettin’ snatched up, and to walk down his own street without worryin’ if the man with the badge done decided he’s a problem today. But reckon as long as some folks keep thinkin’ the real enemy is their neighbor instead o’ the feller what owns the whole dang town, we’ll keep seein’ more o’ the same.

But hey, I’m just a simple man. Ain’t nothin’ to see here, just some ramblin’ nonsense from a country boy who sure does believe folks oughta look out for one another instead o’ lettin’ the rich man pit ‘em against each other. Pay it no mind.