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?