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