Had my mojo workin, workin hard with overtime;
Livin in tall cotton, life was sweet and love was sublime.
When my mojo got laid off, it all came to a screachin halt.
“We had to downsize to survive. It ain’t nobody’s fault.”
I secretly suspected my mojo might be past its prime.
Sent my mojo to the Vo-Tech to pick up some useful skills.
Made a new Wahoo budget, and cut out some favorite frills.
My mojo had the know-how, but now was not overly enthused.
Workin part-time, pinchin dimes, we were alive but not
amused.
Wine, women, and song: they were all gone, along with the
thrills.
My Guardian Angel talked me down off of the wall.
She said my picture was fuzzy, hardly had any focus at all.
“Let’s walk,” She said, “Come on, I’ll show you where the
real fun exists.
Just try not to kick yourself for all of the good times
you’ve missed.”
My Mojo met us there, and I swear we really had a ball.
We made a frazzled worrywart laugh, and there’s not enough
gold
To pay for the smile from the stranger we gave a hand to
hold.
What a joy to have something to offer that lasts more than a
day.
“Do unto others” became a whole lot more than a cliché.
Success comes from
blessing; the best stuff cannot be bought or sold.
Got my Mojo playing, playing for a better prize.
There’s no room for complaining or blaming it all on other
guys.
Why are we here? I don’t know, but we’re all in this boat.
If we’ve a lick of sense, we’ll do all we can to keep it
afloat.
Look past the disguise; there’s a friend; you can see it in
their eyes.
