The Geographical Blues
My little boy asked, Mama, where are we from? Yeah my baby boy asked me, Ma, where are we from? On the long-distance phone I said, honey, how come? He said well, it just seems we’ve been flung east and west Like our people are scattered, north, south, east, and west. I said sure, but that happens with folks on a quest They were pioneers, refugees, needing to roam They were teacherfolk, preacherfolk, wanting to roam And my boy said, I get it, but where is our home? Oh I’ll write you a letter, babe, make it fly high Old blue airmail letter that flies through the sky And I’ll tell you the stories to make you see why Now our telephone connection was getting real poor Yeah our voice-phone connection got scratchy and poor And he said, never mind, Mom, I know all that lore ‘Bout the last-borns who needed to make their own way All the war-born, and poor-born, who made their own way All the many who left, and the few who did stay There was God, there was love, there was traveling to college I k...