OLD WHITE JOE

Old White Joe

(With an apology to Stephen Foster)

Here are the days when the man is old and gray,

Here are his friends from big businesses today,

Here from the banks to a bigger debt we know,

We hear their blatant voices calling "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is getting slow:

We hear those jerky voices calling, "Old White Joe."

Why should we weep for our hearts should feel no pain,

Why do we sigh that his friends rise again,

Grieving for hopes now departed long ago?

We hear those stupid voices calling, "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is working slow:

We hear those strident voices calling, "Old White Joe."

Where are the hearts so hopeful and free?

Their ideas so dear they held for all to see,

Gone to the dust where their dreams do always go.

We hear those dopey voices calling, "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is turning slow:

We hear those foolish voices calling, "Old White Joe."