Sixty Five

Your Da's in the pen, our stomachs need hope, you stand there bereft, if you think that's class, consider him gone, you'll never eat grass, always first to the Den, they laugh all the dopes, you're his first son, he won't be assed, to leave us alone, could forever shoot gas, don't sit there pretend, you want him back home, the mess he's left, on a brown chair crackin', or with a lover's phone, doesn't care what happens, you say can you help, or ask if we'll cope, kid you're a Schlepp, we splice our own rope.