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 mansion
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