December '61.   My dad's wages light.   Still on that salary   We, all four, could sleep tight.      Right now if you drank from   That very same well,   You'd need a run of luck   To score a bed in a trick hotel.      Is this the legacy of   Too much for too few   That I see?    The kind of legacy that's   Tossin' some good men   To their knees.      The 'great society's'   Maligned concrete cage   Sits dead and vacant now -   At least it kept out rain.      With all those corners cut   The cracks grow wide and near.   I heard some cash was saved   But where it's gone ain't clear..      Who goes down next I don't know.   I don't know nothin' anymore.   Tomorrow's legacy that's   Layin' in state   Awaits reprieve.      I always thought that when a man goes down   You do your best to pick him up.   But how can the milk of kindness trickle down   When it's syphoned off and cheats the cup?