When I was lad, I had a bad dad
I mean he was bad in a way;
Every nickel and cent for liquor he spent,
Till death came and stole him away.
"Flowers, boquets of flowers", I cry.
I may not look neat
While walking the street,
While working for Mother and I.
My mother took sick; they said she would die,
But to bear all her troubles she strove.
She called me to her bd; what do you recon she sai?
To meet her in Heaven above.
Oh, tell me a man who never did wrong,
Who never stayed out at night,
Who stayed at his home and minded his own,
And rocked his dear children to sleep.
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