It's just small-town filling and just living the small town an— Like my kids ride dirt bikes and motorcycles And they just go across the street in the field and ride I can watch 'em off my front porch, um My one boy's into shed-horn hunting So he'll take off and go park his truck out west and be gone all day, and— They— The mountains are just in our backyard That's the nice part about it
When I get up, she swears that she don't hear it Says that I'm as quiet as a mouse I comb my hair and throw some water on my face And back out of the stillness of our house Lately, my patience is in short supply Nothing good seems to ever come from all this work No matter how hard I try
You know I believe in the Son, I ain't no backslider But my people were told they'd prosper in this land Still, I know some who've never seen the ocean Or set one foot on a velvet bed of sand But they've got their treasure laying way up high Where there might be many mansions But when I look up, all I see is sky
Maybe it's the getting by that gets right underneath you It'd swallow up your every step, boy, if it could But maybe it's the stuff it takes to get up In the morning and put another day in, son That holds you 'til the getting's good
Green ribbon front doors, dishwater days This whole town is tied to the torso of God's mysterious ways
Maybe it's the getting by that gets right underneath you It'd swallow up your every step, boy, if it could But maybe it's the stuff it takes to get up In the morning and put another day in, son That keeps you standing where you should So put another day in, son, and hold on 'til the getting's good
Twice a day Twice a day Yeah, twice a day it comes through— my grandkids When it comes through, they run out and they look down the road Because they like to see it go byTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.