Swingin' Utters. A Promise To Distinction. Zeneszám

One I was younger than
The youngest of fragile minds
I ate the day with bad manners
Then spit out the rind

And mother told me
As I looked to the sky
Yes my mother told me "My dear son,
You're not the one"

I flew from home when I was just twenty-one
Young enough to be the feather of someone
I've got a conch pissed with conch republic rum
My father by my side, teary-eyed, he said:
"Son, by god what I could have done,
And you're just like me,
You can really put 'em down

oh if I was in your place I'd stay, have fun
But I??¦ not the one"

Now I'm sitting here
Haggling over sums
Of money made by someone else
To me it don't belong
I toss a smile to the mighty boss
He's my God
But I'm a bit backwards
And I know he's just a fucking dog.