When I get up, she swears that she don´t hear it
Says that I´m as quiet as a mouse
I comb my hair, throw some water on my face
And back out of the stillness of our house
Lately my patience is in short supply

Nothing seems to come from all this work
No matter how hard I try

You know I believe in the Son, I ain´t no backslider
But my people were told they´d prosper in this land
Still I know some who´ve never seen the ocean
Or set one foot on a velvet bed of sand
But they´ve got their treasure laying way up high
And there might be a million mansions
But when I look up all I see is sky

Maybe it´s the getting by
That gets right underneath you
It´d swallow up your every step
You take, boy, if it could
But maybe it´s the stuff it takes

To get up in the morning
And put another day in, son
That keeps you standing where you should
Hold on till the getting´s good