The House I Live In

I'm just one of hundreds of millions of people who carry in our hearts
A profound affection, respect, and lasting sense of loss for John FitzGerald Kennedy
I dearly wish that I could find more ways to live those words of his
"Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country"
But, whatever I try to give to my country it keeps giving right back to me
Compounded every hour on the hour
Only in America could all that's happened to me, happen to a guy like me
Anywhere else I might have wound up digging coal
Or herding sheep or stuffing fortune cookies
All respectable enough jobs but I imagine, for me, a bit frustrating
My country has let me sing for my supper and then payed me for the food I eat
I've had my ups and downs, but who hasn't?
But my low down downdest was certainly better than digging post holes
For the iron or bare bull curtain, and you'd better believe me buster

What is America to me?
A name, a map, a flag I see
A certain word, democracy
What is America to me?

The house I live in
A plot of earth, a street
The grocer and the butcher
And the people that I meet
The children in the playground
The faces that I see
All races and religions
That's America to me

A place I work in
A worker by my side
A little town or city
Where my people lived and died
The howdy and the handshake
The air of feeling free
And the right to speak my mind out
That's America to me

The things I see about me
The big things and the small
The little corner newsstand
And the house a mile tall
The wedding and the churchyard
A laughter and the tears
And the dream that's been a growing
For a hundred and eighty years

The town I live in
The street, the house, the room
Pavement of the city
Or a garden all in bloom
The church, the school, the clubhouse
The millions lights I see
But especially the people
That's America to me