Fighting the boys to get in the wood,
Mooching a drink whenever we could.
Freezing our feet in this awful cold.
Trying to turn our poor labor to gold.
Ogling the good looking girls on the street,
Matching dimes for coffee whenever we'd meet
My friend, is that a tear on your cheek?
Your are in Salmon, December is gone by,
Now where are the wages you earned last July?
Groceries are way up, labor is off,
The President missed a whole week of golf.
The Russians have blowed their dog house so high,
I'm afraid they have damaged our gold mine in the sky.
We goofed on our missile, money was too tight,
On account of the political quarrel and fight.
Some say it's the fault of the Republican clan.
They say it's the fault of the soft working man.
If the Lord will come to the aid of the beggar on the street,
He'll come to the aid of this country so great.
If we swallow our pride and banish our fears,
And have faith like our fathers of earlier years,
And forget all our pride in the strength of our hoard,
And establish our faith in the strength of the Lord.
Harry Hicks
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