When We'Re Old and Grey
When we are old and grey, what will they say?
It all comes down to this: the good old days
A rocking chair, an old tobacco pipe
Tiny feet sprawled about, faces in need of a wipe
Dear little ones, I have a short story
About the early days of great guts and no glory.
Travails came my way and choices had to be made
Mouths to feed and bills to be paid
The fool of the court I was called
Not once was I perturbed nor appalled
Dusty shoes and never owning a car
I worked so hard all my life and all I have are
Soiled clothes, dirty hands, a clean conscience and an empty can
Although I lived in bondage, I will die a free man.
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