I saw this man on TV
talking about losing his job
after 25 years.
Now he was a middle
-aged blue -collar worker,
and you could sense his pain.
This was in Chicago,
the home of the blues.
So I wrote this song for him,
and maybe for you.
He had a name hard to pronounce
An d a sadness, a source,
fell right out of his mouth
When he said his name,
an d you could
sense his pain
A blue collar worker
caught in the shape of a game
That he cannot explain
And there ain't much you can do
When they say your job is through
He's a white cat with a blue collar
Can't never lose
Now he's heard it all before
The business of buyouts, bailouts
Means you got to go
No, no, no, no
They don't need you, no, no
Now his home is Chicago,
the home of the blues
What is his only point?
Middle -aged white man gonna do, yeah
So he's off to his favorite bar
Where he can tell his friends
he don't work no more
He's a white man with the blues
With the blue collar blues
Everybody gets the blues, sometimes
But what's amazing is that blues
Will help cure you of the blues
Blue collar blues
It can happen to me an d you,
it's a shame, the blues, yes it is,
the blues, the Blue Combo, Blue