Folks

Some folks like to look, they like to point They like to push, they like to shove Some folks like to talk about the things they have, the things they love But things are that just things, and I don't give a damn, I must seem trite I'm not that old, I'm not too young I'm not too smart, I sure ain't dumb I walked around and round and round most every place I've been found and all I've found is most places usually seem the same to me And I talk with people off the street My line of work I tend to meet, the kind of folk that seem like minded Those of us just trying to find our way, so let's just meet up at some place We can sort it out And I talk with people off the street My line of work I tend to meet the kind of folk that seem like minded Those of us just trying to find our way, so let's just meet up at some place We can sort it out This god-forsaken world it chews you up and spits you out It scuffs your shoes, it takes most everything you got and then it tries you with the blues But that's alright the blues is something perused that you still feel Some folks like to look, they like to point They like to push, they like to shove, Some folks like to talk about the things they have, the things they love But things are that just things, and I don't give a damn and I'm alright