Bein’ Human
By Bill Stinger.
God made us human bein’s, but, often, we will find
That few are bein’ human if we scrutinize mankind—
There’s a lot of folks pretendin’ till their lives are out of joint,
With the things that bust the heartstrings, burn the soul, and disappoint.
And, instead of bein’ natural, jist the way God meant ’em to,
They are losing all life’s rapture apin’ what the others do.
Bein’ human is a practice that jist everlastin’ pays,
In peace, and love, and fellowship through all the livelong days.
Makes folks trust you for they sense it that your inner self is true,
So you’ll find ’em all a-feelin’ like confidin’ lots in you—
While it pays another’s virtues fur to try to emulate.
You’ll have to be your honest self if ever you are great.
There’s no folly like the folly of the fool who tries to be,
Like some other feller’s pattern, in exact conformity—
Be yourself, there’s no way tellin’, mebbe it was in the plan,
Fur yourself to be the makin’ of superior kind of man.
Anyway there’s joy and laughter put in every feller’s lot,
If he’ll only quit pretendin’ he is sumpin he is not.
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