December '61. my Dad's wages light. Still on that salary we, all four, could sleep tight.
Right now if you drank from that very same well you'd need a run of luck to score a bed in a trick hotel
Is this the legacy of too much for too few that I see? The kind of legacy that's tossin' some good men to their knees
The 'Great Society's' maligned concrete cage sits dead and vacant now - at least it kept out rain
With all those corners cut the cracks grow wide and near I heard some cash was saved but where it's gone ain't clear
Who goes down next I don't know I don't know nothin' anymore Tomorrow's legacy that's layin' in state awaits reprieve
I always heard that when a man goes down you do your best to pick him up But how can the milk of kindness trickle down when it's syphoned off and cheats the cup?