Born in the thirties
Raised in the fifties and sixties
Mom loved America
Taught me the Ten Commandments
With Grandpa
Chastised for Socialist leanings
A proud American
Would today be feeding the homeless
In that much I am imperfect
I grew up at times holding three jobs
I have no love of those claiming addictions
Grandpa would have
The need to help those with less than us
On the scale of things that was not many
The family kept a ledger
Milk and eggs for Yamada and Ivan
The shadows of Hitler meant nothing
To our American German born brothers
Laurence Welk a one and a two--!
Patti Page, "How much is that doggy--!"
"Manana not marijuana!"
I was raised through the war years
The possible raid by Japanese warships
Yet Yamada was my friend and brother
Race and color had nothing to do with friendship
Neither Mom or Grandpa would understand
Helping those who would not help themselves
The addicted with drugs and crime
She would roll over in her grave seeing
Taxes used to help Heroin abusers and drunks
She loved Mexican food and dancing
Not on the corner selling drugs and prancing
I share with my Mom her feelings of despair
Gaining wealth with faked care!