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That young boy without a name |
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Anywhere I'd know his face |
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In this city the kid's my favorite |
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I've seen him, I've seen him, I see him every day |
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Seen him run outside |
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Looking for a place to hide |
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From his father, the kid half naked |
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And said to myself "Oh what's the matter here?" |
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I'm tired of the excuses, everybody uses |
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He's their kid |
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I stay out of it |
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But who gave you the right to do this? |
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We live on Morgan Street, just ten feet between |
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And his mother, I've never see her |
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But her screams and cussing |
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I hear them every day |
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Threats like, "If you don't mind |
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I will beat on your behind |
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Slap you, slap you silly" |
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Made me say, "Oh what's the matter here?" |
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I'm tired of the excuses, everybody uses |
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He's your kid do as you see fit, |
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But get this through that I don't approve of what you did |
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To you own flesh and blood |
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I have heard the excuses, everybody uses |
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He's your kid do as you see fit |
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But get this through that I don't approve of what you did |
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To you own flesh and blood |
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"If you don't sit in your chair straight |
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I'll take this belt from around my waist |
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And don't you think that I won't use it" |
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Answer me and take your time |
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What could be the awful crime |
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He could do at so young an age? |
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If I'm the only witness to your madness |
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Offer me some words |
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To balance out what I see and what I hear |
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All these cold and rude things that you do |
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I suppose you do because he belongs to you |
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And instead of love and the feel of warmth |
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You've given him these cuts and sores |
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That don't heal with time or with age |
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And I want to say, "Hi" |
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Want to say, "Hey, hey, what's the matter here? |
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But I don't dare say, "Hey, hey, what's the matter here?" |
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But I don't dare say, "Hey, hey" |