You may be high, you may be low,You may be rich, or poor as dirt,But there’s a wind that starts to blow,And a truth that’s bound to hurt.
No use in hiding, no use in flight,The shadow’s gonna find your door;It’s a lonesome walk in the dead of night,To the golden, distant shore. mississippi_fred_mcdowell_you_gotta_move
The clock don’t care for the crown you wear,Or the silver in your hand;When the Master calls through the heavy air,You’ll leave this weary land. You may be high, you may be low,You
So tune the wood and strike the chord,Let the slide-ring moan its prayer,For the road is long toward the Lord,And you’ve got to meet Him there. You may be high