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 'til 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 'til the getting's good