The House I Live In
Paul Robeson
What is america to me? A name, a map, the flag I see,
A certain word, “democracy” what is america to me?
The house I live in, the friends that I have found,
The folks beyond the railroad and the people all around,
The worker and the farmer, the sailor on the sea,
The men who built this country, that’s america to me.
The house I live in, my neighbors white and black,
The people who just came here, or from generations back,
The town hall and the soap box, the torch of liberty,
A place to speak my mind out, that’s america to me.
The words of old abe lincoln, of jefferson and paine,
Of washington and douglas, and the task that still remains,
The little bridge at concord, where freedom’s fight began,
Our gettysburg and midway, and the story of bataan.
The house I live in, the goodness everywhere,
A land of wealth and beauty with enough for all to share,
A house that we call freedom, the home of liberty,
And the promise for tomorrow, that’s america to me.
The town I live in, the street, the house, the room,
The pavement of the city, or a garden all in bloom,
The church, the school, the clubhouse, a million lights I see,
But especially the people, that’s america to me.
But especially the people, that’s the true america.
