The Getting By III - Intellectual

[Verse 1]

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

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

They've got the treasure laying way up high

There just 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

Swallows 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

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

But maybe it's the stuff it takes to get up in the morning

And put another day in, son

And hold you till the getting's good