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