We ain’t got no money honey
but we got sunshine all the time.
No job this year no house no more
no future and no hope
and it’s hot and dry this summer
living here in grandpa’s house.
Wish we had some hot dogs and
a barbecue to cook ‘em on.
Grandpa said it always rained
in the nineteen thirties;
rained on and on for days on end
‘course he was on the road back then.
Seemed the sun would never shine
like sunshine cost the wealthy something.
Our people still ain’t hit the roads
still a step above the Joads
so heavy rains are holding off
a’waitin us to reach the end.
When the checks ‘n food stamps cease
cut backs for a budget fix
and kids at home begin to starve
the spirits of the Joads will join
a caravan to somewhere else;
then the rains will come again.
When you can’t remember life before
and we’re all living in the camps
we’ll pick tomatoes for forty cents
to feed our kids and patch our tents
taking jobs from Mexicans.
And you’ll think about what went before
all your choices, what went wrong;
how you never thought you’d ever miss
the slamming of your old screen door.