Click Here to Here "When the Saints Return"
When the Saints Return
Home is where the jazz band rings Home is where the streetcar sings Home?s a dance at Mardi Gras My home in New Orleans is gone
It?s hard, it?s hard. When you ain?t got no home it?s hard
One sad day the winds tore through Drowned us in the Delta blues Left us lost and lonesome few Like a levy: broke in two
Father, father, where is he? Flood done cast him out to sea. Mother, mother, where are you? Wind done washed away her too.
Stayed awhile with a friend My hungry mouth he could not tend A job of work I search and seek But ain?t no work for guys like me
Swept into a shelter bed Barely room to rest my head Swept away from all I know Where am I supposed to go?
They call us all the refugees They call us all evacuees All our names, they don?t know But they know it?s time we?re on our own
Now listen to me everyone Who calls us homeless lazy bums Do not slander and accuse Until you?ve walked in my poor shoes
Like the saints marched in before Like old Satchmo?s trumpet roared Like Tennessee and Faulkner penned New Orleans will be home again