Somebody thinks the world all wrong,
And never has a word in its praise;
Somebody sings the whole day long,
Likes the world and all its ways;
Somebody says it's a queer old place,
Where none of the people do as they should;
Somebody thinks it full of grace,
And wouldn't change the folks if he could.
Somebody thinks it cruel and cold,
Full of sin and sorrow and pain,
Where life is but a search for gold,
And souls are lost in selfish gain.
Somebody merrily laughs and cries
"Hurrah for such a dear old earth!
Success shall crown the man that tries
To make his mark by honest worth."
Somebody groans and shakes his head,
Calls his lot a wretched one;
Somebody wishes that he were dead,
For somebody else has all the fun.
But somehow I notice you generally find,
In good or evil, pain or care,
To one thing sure you may make up your mind,
Somebody always gets his share.