John McCutcheon - One Man's Trash (Welcome the Traveler Home: the Winfield Songs, 2004) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• John McCutcheon
• One Man's Trash (Welcome the Traveler Home: the Winfield Songs, 2004)

Well, I was twelve years old, just a wild young buck
When Daddy gave me a foal from the old brood mare
And with a spring full of training and a summer full of luck
We won every race at the county fair
He used to run like the wind so wild and free
But now he can't pull a plow and she's crippled in the knee
And my Daddy wants to send him to the factory
But he's a whole lot more to me than hoof and hide
And he still loves to take me on a long slow ride

CHORUS

One man's trash is another man's treasure
One man's ceiling is another man's floor
One man's pain is another man's pleasure
And nothing's for certain, mister, that's for sure
No, nothing's for certain, mister, that's for sure

She was singing on the corner so soft and slow
As the crowds pushed by on the avenue
With her old hands gnarled and her back bent low
She played her guitar so clean and true
And one or two would stop if they had a little time
Searching in their pockets for a nickel or a dime
Searching all the faces like she's looking for a sign
And when I dropped six bits in her old tin cup
She had a hundred dollar smile when she looked on up

CHORUS

I saw him by the roadside, looking crooked and funny
Stuffing tins cans in an old brown sack
I was out for a run and he was out for the money
He gave me one look and then he never looked back
No, he didn't have a dollar and he didn't have shame
And I never knew his story and I never got his name
But every now and then I had to wonder, all the same
How he'd ever fill his belly at a nickel on the pound
But he was gone from the ditches when I came back around

And I shouldn't have to tell you cause you know it's true
'Cause you can see them in the city, in the country, in the town
Hard working folks like me and you
Who rise right up when they're beat on down
Who struggle all their lives just as hard as they're able
And only get the crumbs from the rich man's table
Makes me think about the king who was born in the stable
Or how they marched with the singing and the trumpets' sound
Till the walls of the city came a-tumbling down.

CHORUS

John McCutcheon еще тексты