A tears-in-your-beer ballad for the man who won the truck and lost the house.
This one's for every man who walked out of a lawyer's office holding half of everything and feeling like he was holding nothing at all. The papers say the split was even — truck for Buick, records for wine, porch for porch swing. But paper never counted the sound of claws on a kitchen floor at six in the morning, and no judge ever awarded custody of the quiet.
This week the charts are full of leaving songs — Cody Johnson's arguing with a title, half of Nashville's singing goodbye — and the autumn air's doing its yearly reminding that everything good wraps up eventually. So I wrote about the even split that wasn't. The turn is on Sunday evening, out in the clover: he whistles, the dog turns, and the dog chooses right. That's the whole verdict. Pour one, sit a spell.
[Verse 1]
Signed the papers Monday morning, ten good years split down the line,
I kept the truck, she kept the Buick, I kept the records, she kept the wine.
Shook the lawyer's hand like a winner, held my head up for the drive,
took me half a tank of highway to feel half-alive.
[Chorus]
She got the dog, and I got the quiet,
she got the sunshine, I got the rain.
Split it even down the middle, darlin',
but half of nothin' still don't have a name.
Judge said "even" when the gavel came down,
now the kitchen floor's been missin' its best sound.
She got the dog,
and I got what's left.
[Verse 2]
I keep buyin' food for two now, just an old habit at the store,
catch myself callin' toward the back door, like he's sleepin' on the kitchen floor.
She took the porch swing, I kept the porch —
funny trade when you think it through:
I got the wood and nails and paint, Lord,
and she got somethin' true.
[Chorus]
She got the dog, and I got the quiet,
she got the sunshine, I got the rain.
Split it even down the middle, darlin',
but half of nothin' still don't have a name.
Judge said "even" when the gavel came down,
now the kitchen floor's been missin' its best sound.
She got the dog,
and I got what's left.
[Steel Guitar Solo]
[Verse 3]
Drove past her place on Sunday evenin', low and slow like strangers do,
there he was out in the clover, runnin' like the wind was new.
Rolled my window down, gave a whistle — he turned my way, my heart stood still,
then he ran on back to Mama...
and I understood the will.
[Chorus]
She got the dog, and I got the quiet,
she got the sunshine, I got the rain.
Split it even down the middle, darlin',
but half of nothin' still don't have a name.
Judge said "even" when the gavel came down,
now the kitchen floor's been missin' its best sound.
She got the dog,
and I got what's left.
[Spoken Outro]
"Lawyer asked me if the split was fair. I said, fair as rain.
She got the dog... and I got forty acres of quiet, paid for and free.
Some nights I still fill two bowls. Old habit. Old heart. Same road home."
Written & performed by Waylon · DirtRoadRadio
