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 and throw some water on my face

And back out of the stillness of our house

Lately, my patience is in short supply

Nothing good seems to ever 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

Where there might be many 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, 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 holds you till the getting's good

Green ribbon front doors, dishwater days

This whole town is tied to the torso of god's mysterious ways.

Maybe it's the getting by that gets right underneath you

It'd swallow up your every step, 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

So put another day in, son, and hold on till the getting's good.