It's Fine Being Poor

My wealth’s a gift I keep inside,
Not meant to flaunt or feed my pride.
I walk unseen through city streets,
Where humble hearts and pain will meet.

A waitress worn, a saddened face,
Life’s trials rob her tone of grace.
I tip her big for just a pop.
Five hundred bucks to go and shop.

I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.

A mother short on funds today,
I stepped right in and chose to pay.
She placed her worries on the rack,
Her great big smile was a payback.

I saw a man in torn‑old clothes,
The cold had bitten through his toes.
He held a cup; I dropped some pay,
Then smiled and softly walked away.

I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.

I love to give where few can see,
No lights, no crowds, just quietly.
To those unknown, I lend my hand,
Expecting nothing in demand.

I saw a child in tattered clothes,
His eyes told all the pain he knows.
I gave his mom a thousand, clear,
To chase away her weight of fear.

I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.

I walk through storms with steady peace,
My giving hands find sweet release.
The world may never know my name,
I don't give to receive the fame.

It’s true, more joy comes when we give,
That’s where the heart begins to live.
For blessings grow when love takes flight,
And giving turns the dark to light.

I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.

I may not have a fancy home,
Or bags of cash to call my own.
But when I give, it makes me see,
How rich my heart can truly be.

I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.
I laugh with pockets feeling light,
Still dream of fortune every night.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.
I wake and see the same old floor,
But truth be told—it’s fine being poor.

Strong elements of: swing and jump-blues (horn-driven, rockabilly  / humorous feel
Male singers