Some folks like to look, they like to point
They like to push, they like to shove
Some folks like to talk about the things they have, the things they love
But things are that just things, and I don't give a damn, I must seem trite
I'm not that old, I'm not too young
I'm not too smart, I sure ain't dumb
I walked around and round and round most every place
I've been found and all I've found is most places usually seem the same to me
And I talk with people off the street
My line of work I tend to meet, the kind of folk that seem like minded
Those of us just trying to find our way, so let's just meet up at some place
We can sort it out
And I talk with people off the street
My line of work I tend to meet the kind of folk that seem like minded
Those of us just trying to find our way, so let's just meet up at some place
We can sort it out
This god-forsaken world it chews you up and spits you out
It scuffs your shoes, it takes most everything you got and then it tries you with the blues
But that's alright the blues is something perused that you still feel
Some folks like to look, they like to point
They like to push, they like to shove,
Some folks like to talk about the things they have, the things they love
But things are that just things, and I don't give a damn and I'm alright