“[My songs] aren’t so pretty, but they’re songs that I learned or I wrote while I was doing stoop labor up and down the highways and byways of California, travelin’ with my people in their broken-down old cars and with their kids with bellies swollen from hunger, their mouths full of the dust of Oklahoma.”
“My mama and my papa
Have eight children sweet and fine;
Our house is such a little house,
And soon there will be nine.
And now today I kneel and pray
Some million dollar man
Will let my papa go to work;
He’ll do the best he can.”
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