Your boy is crazy,
He's not going lazy,
Works 60 hours a week,
And not trying to be freak,
Broke and sorry,
But still eating steaks seasoned with lawry's,
Looking up from the bottom to above,
Your son is thinking about it when he's sober,
Wishing he was with you at all times,
But then he would feel like he was a lime,
Sour, fake, and trying to rhyme,
Your son is just worried about the time,
Staring in the sky hopeing you'll underdstand,
When your boy has a master plan,
Inside his head,
Hopeing and planning it a road full of bread,
As a grown man looking around,
At shame shaking his head to the ground,
And wishing the economy would turn back around,
Looking at the pittafull stocks and the dollar,
Making me look at the world and holler,
Wishing the word was worth more than the dollar,
Looking at the younger generation as they get taller....
