The Life of a Dollar - Rebecca Lynn Howard

From the pocket of an honest preacher

To the empty hand of a homeless bum

To the cash drawer at the liquor store

Where he bought a pint of rum

To the bank clerk who past me off

To the single mom trying to pay the rent

I can’t even count all the times

And all the ways I’ve been spent

I close my eyes and hold my breath

When the bad man steals me

And ruins my name

If I had my way I rather be

Passed off in the offering plate

I’ve been in the hands of a rich man

In a shoebox under a farmer’s bed

Help post the bail of a stubborn boy

Who could have walked but he fought instead

I’ve been torn in half over some silly bet

Taped back together and then they tossed me

In the case of a beggin' Cajun fiddler player

On Bourbon Street

Some people call me George

Some people worship the color green

I don’t really mind of course

I just like the company

'Cause I’m sure one day

I’ll be a thing of the past

I’ll be sitting folded up

In some old woman’s hope chest

She’ll be telling her grand kids

How she used to spend me

On a pack of gum, and jackerjacks

A can of Coke and a quarter snack

And she’ll say «back then you could get so much for a dollar»

And they’ll say, «what's a dollar?»

But for now I’m sitting in a piggybank

Of an eight year old trying to buy a bike

I’m proud to be a dollar twenty three

On the way to thirty five

She pours us out onto the carpet

Counts us all then holds us tight

Then she puts us back in one by one

Blows a kiss then she says good night

And there ain’t tellin' where I’ll end up next

In a bra or a bible it’s anybody’s guess

Maybe in a bottle just floatin' in the water

Living the life of a dollar