Bernie's long-brewed beliefs pair perfectly with James McMurtry's sage sounds. Like Bernie's everyman supporters, McMurtry's songs give voice to the thirsty and hungry. All of Bernie's concerns are served, sour dish after sour dish in McMurtry's bitter banquet of "We Can't Make it Here." As the title suggests, the song deals with the struggle to find employment and economic support in modern America. There is no relief here, just distaste and a long breath in. Like rich folk stuffing their Prada purses with porterhouse steak, McMurtry laments that "the working poor get to fall through the cracks". Like the hungry Dickensian child, the American public are sick of watching the feast and the wafting smells don't fill empty stomachs. Bernie knows the restaurant's door has heavy locks and a handle that most can't reach. McMurtry's Vietnam vet, begging with a cardboard sign, has lost his mobility and would surely struggle to even reach the door.
