Image Farm Security Administration (FSA) migratory labor camp. Brawley, California. Father is home after a day in the pea fields. Note tent platform, standard equipment in Farm Security Administration camps  U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black & White Photographs LC-USF34- 019319-E

Lyrics:

Some days son it seems
Like the whole wide world is crying
Despairing that we’ll never ever see
The dawning of a day
When the poor man gets some justice—
But, no son, not me
Some days son it seems
Like the whole wide world is lying
‘Cause no one sees a buck in honesty
And they’d exchange a sinner’s wage
For a liar’s stock in trade—
But, no son, not me
And some days son it seems
Like there ain’t no use in trying
To fight against a rising tide of greed
And we’d let hard work’s just reward
Go quietly ignored
But, no son, not me
And some days son it seems
Like the whole world’s getting weaker
And working folks might lose the will to fight
And’ll meekly bear their crosses
For the bankers and the bosses—
Hell, no son, not you nor I
And some days son it seems
Like the whole world’s getting meaner
And the milk of human kindness must run dry
And we’ll forget the names and faces
Of the very least among us
But no son, never you nor I

Lyrics