Music Makes you think and stirs your emotions

 Kadizzle set up some better speakers in the computer room.

The combination of new speakers and the Spotify music service

have made for some good music.  The lyrics to so many songs are 

so well written and evoke memories.  Recently in New York City

The Commander and Kadizzle toured a tenement museum. 

The hardship and suffering those people went through was 

hard to imagine.  These people came worked hard and finally made

it in our country. Many of us came directly from families that struggle 

just back a generation or two.  Sadly people are still trying to go 

forward today.  It makes Kadizzle very sad to hear Mitt Romney call 

Hard working people moochers.  When we were in New York we stayed 

at a very nice hotel. In the lobby we met a very nice man from Nepal.  The 

young man had not seen his wife and family for four years. He was 

intelligent, had a master's degree in business, but was struggling to earn 

a living a bellman.  Doubtfully was this man in a position to pay 

taxes.  To call him a moocher was an insult beyond compression, certianly 

from a man born into wealth like Mitt.  The lyrics below are from the song 

"Eyes of the immigrant".  by Eric Anderson.  Pull up the song and listen to 

it.  While you listen think about the moochers. Think about the black woman 

who was a moocher according to Mitt, but she cleaned floors all her life and 

left a black college $250,000.  Mitt needs to apologize and look at the real

moochers, the billionairs that will get an additional 3 million with the Bush 

tax cuts.                 

They came by day, and they came by night. 
They came like cattle they were packed so tight. 
They rolled on the stairways and they slept on the decks. 
And the only thing they knew was they could not turn back. 
They came from Sweden and they came from France. 
They came from up and down along the continent. 
They came in floods and they came in waves. 
They came for glory and they came to escape. 
Some held their breath in the morning light. 
As New York Harbor came into sight. 
They leaned on the rails and the decks just to see. 
A statue of a lady known as "Liberty." 
Their hands gripped the rails and their eyes peered up. 
Some were crying with their eyes; some were crying with their hearts. 
They were dreaming of the future; they were crying for a chance. 
Maybe the son of a shipper could even be the president. 

CHORUS: 
Eyes of the healthy and eyes of the lame 
Eyes of the free and the eyes of the chain 
Eyes of the wealthy and eyes of the poor 
Eyes of an Indian who rides nevermore 
Always remember and never forget 
Beneath all the dirt and beneath all the sweat 
Who looked to the future and knew what it meant 
But the hearts and the minds and the souls and the dreams 
In the eyes, eyes of the Immigrant 

Out of Ellis Island they poured like sheep 
Onto the land and into the streets. 
With their hands on their children and their coats on their backs 
They brought nothing more than they could fit in their sacks. 
Carpenters, steel workers, firemen, and cops 
Peddled rags full of shoes in all the neighborhood shops. 
They worked with their hands and they worked with their backs 
Bringin' coal from the ground and puttin' smoke up the stacks. 
Wave after wave the flood never stopped. 
Soon the ones on the bottom they rose to the top. 
They dreamed and they said no matter how its gotten bad, 
You give to your kids the things that you never had. 
Be doctors and lawyers and chairmen of the boards. 
Be the guardians of peace and protectors in the wars. 
You work with your knowledge and your skills and your minds. 
Now its everybody's future that you hold in your sights. 

CHORUS 

Some tried to settle, some couldn't out of fear. 
Some kept dreaming of the new frontier. 
Everybody was convinced they had a place in the sun, 
That it wasn't what you were so much as what you could become. 
Everybody's future wasn't everybody's dream; 
The land could be barren and the streets could be mean. 
It was a fact in the suburbs and the farms and the shacks 
That you only knew ahead there ain't no room to fall back. 
This is the land and the home of the free. 
That's what we want the whole world to believe. 
Not everybody makes it to the top of the heap: 
Some were brought in chains from far across the sea; 
Some lost their way and some lost track; 
And some realized that you can't look back. 
And sometimes you hear it but you don't know where 
The sound of the waves still crashing in your ear. 

CHORUS