Blow the House Down

This one goes to market
This one makes a meal at home
This one has closets
While the have-nots down the way have none
So I go to the mountains, I go to the river
I pilot machines
People have places
And the places have the people’s dreams
Oh! Puff, puff and blow the house down
There’s a song for the robbers
On the other side of windowpanes
A song for the cowboys
Held up in hundred-mile-an-hour trains
And there’s one for the lovers, and one for the sinners
That they sing in the pews
Short of distinctions
I’d say we’ve all grown tired of singing blues
Oh! Puff, puff, and blow the house down