The street beat
It is simple to say,
Farewell ,uh uh, or no way.
It's easy not to give.
After all, look at the lives you live.
Living here in Toronto
With no place to live or go.
So small and weak,
So tired I can't speak.
Just hold out my hand with a little tin cup,
When someone puts money in it, it means a lot.
I have no life, no place to be.
No joyful days no family.
Born and raised here on the street.
I'm getting acquainted with it's rough beat.
Smoking, drugs, all that's there,
And there's no one to care,
For me, for us.
And you thought giving us a little money was a fuss.
You think that we're all stupid, that there is nothing in our mind.
That we are greedy, dirty, and unkind.
We wash your windows, or your feet.
Whatever requirements we can meet.
Some of us don't want a chance, but I do.
Just think about it; cause what if this was you.