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.