Monday, August 3, 2009

my old man

my old man, he's a singer in the park, he's a walker in the rain, he's a dancer in the dark
we don't need no piece of paper from the city hall
keeping us tied and true, my old man, keeping away my blues

he's my sunshine in the morning, he's my fireworks at the end of the day,
he's the warmest chord I ever heard, play that warm chord

but when hes gone me and them lonesome blues collide
the beds too big the frying pans too wide

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