The Getting By IV

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