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Sitting, |
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Cooking up a daydream about being |
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somebody's auntie. |
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Planning, |
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living out of fantasies of having |
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a child of your own. |
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And if the child had his mother's eyes |
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and his mother's nose, |
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he's got the same dimpled smile |
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as his grandad, |
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the way he rolls his eyeballs |
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when you call. |
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He's all the things that make life beautiful. |
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Talking, |
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seeing how somebody's boy just made it, |
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all by himself. |
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Got married, |
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wants himself an house and car, |
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got settled. |
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He's doing quite nicely. |
|
And the little baby boy got his mother's eyes, |
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and her nose. |
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He's got the same dimpled smile |
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as his grandad, |
|
the way he rolls his eyeballs |
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when you call. |
|
He's all the things that make life beautiful. |
|
And the child got every chance, |
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of being somebody, |
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for his mother and his father and his uncles and his aunts |
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love him too. |
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Can't understand why you always |
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got something else to do, |
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and why he insists on staying in that way, them all. |
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But he's a man, he's not a little child |
|
anymore, |
|
He's got to live the way he feels the way he wants |
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the way he knows he can. |
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The people who look down |
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at the way he moves around, |
|
and he grows, |
|
those are the one who made him want his life, them all. |
|
But he's a man, he's not a little child |
|
anymore, |
|
He's got to live the way he feels the way he wants |
|
the way he knows he can. |
|
The people who look down |
|
at the way he moves around, |
|
and he grows, |
|
those are the one who made him want his life, them all. |