First I remember I was three maybe four
We were at the tavern Dad and me
Drink a brew put beer in my bottle for me
I never acquired a taste so it was a waste
At six he put me on his lap and I steered
A ten ton coal truck driving for years I feared
At seven he said you will grow up a man like me
The kid slapped me and I went home bawling you see
He threw me out the door don't come home until you are bloody boy
Even though I won that fight for me it was no joy
I was thirteen, prepared, would fight dad at any chance
He was beating mom I raised my fist we left in an ambulance
I knew at fifteen a fight from my dad I would never again run
So the day he kicked in the door I stood there with the gun
There was a look of fright in his eyes, "You would not shoot me?"
But the trigger had been pulled and misfired you see
The coward that he was he ran and never did return
And the Lawyer said, "Your father died in a fire he did burn."