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 heard 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?