Honey D'Ya Think?
So you want to be an artist
and the only way to do it is to suffer
And you want to be cool
so you fake it 'til you can grow upper
Ah, yes, you've got money in your pants
Why don't you come in from the street and dance?
or are the pleasures of the peasants
too lowly for your glance?
Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues
because you live in the street and have no shoes?
You choose, you lose, and it don't give you
the right to sing the blues
You want to be cool
You wear your shades across your face, you never smile
Anybody seeing you
would think that you have paid your dues, and now you're retired
You're all against the Viet Nam war, you make it plain
You go to all the marches in an ecstasy of pain
but you couldn't spare a quarter for a blind man on the corner
standing there in the rain
Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues
because you live in the street and have no shoes?
You choose, you lose, and it don't give you
the right to sing the blues
Yes, you want to be a Negro,
Try to prove that you have soul, but it's all gone
And you want to be a martyr
so you moan about your problems just like old Uncle Tom
Ah, honey, don't you see
Blues is more than just a fabricated mystery
You've got to get out of it to get into it
and then you can sing
Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues
because you live in the street and have no shoes?
You choose, you lose, and it don't give you
the right to sing the blues
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