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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Where we grow up in Trinidad It’s a street with hills on both sides And I remember my father Going to work on the bike he rides Trinidad had a rail way service And my father use to drive a train But the government scraped it And he had to look for a job again He would go looking for work For months no salary he brings But he always made us happy Just Living with the simple things My father was master crafts man And we always look up to our dad He cut oil drums with a hammer and chisels And flatten them to fence round our yard A task that took him months And very hard to complete Can you imagine trying to flatten? Oil drums with a log, bare hands and feet That’s the person my father was A man of strength and character And the foot prints the he leave We will always follow after In the gallery at nights We kid would gather and sings We were so happy with our lives Just living with the simple things My father make concrete blocks From gravel, cement and sands And if you see our house in Trinidad He builds it with his own hands He never passes a person in distress Would give his last dollar in his pocket And he will walk away feeling happy And he would do without it He was a perfect gentle man It’s how he live everyday Said the hundreds of people Who attended on his burial day? Tonight he’s saying prayers in heaven To the prophets and angels with wings And I know it makes him proud To see us happy with the simple things
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