Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Got those wood-worked scars ‘n those would be should be could bes,
but they keep yellin’ that it ain’t easy bein’ young,
keep tellin’ that it just takes patience,
‘n they’re probably right,
but I got these jobs I been doin’ since sixteen,
bussin’ now, trained by a seventeen year old,
‘n now, I don’t mean that like an insult,
knew her job, does it well,
plenty, plenty to learn,
but I got six on her,
‘n I know, I know, I’ve known things like workin’ long before dawn,
like makin’ somethin’ from nothin’,
like lookin’ with pride at somethin’ these hands have done.
she goes home with a smile ‘n a tip.
‘n I ain’t knockin’ the money,
ain’t insultin’ the work,
but there ain’t no concrete proof of pride.
‘n hell, that’s probably just the ennui talkin’,
but I got all these skills that I can’t seem to sell,
‘n they say it ain’t easy bein’ young,
but I ain’t as young as I was,
‘n I ain’t seen proof of it yet.
I’ll wait,
but I ain’t.
but maybe, maybe, maybe,
I just ain’t let myself get traction yet.
Always hard to tell.
