Home Music Photos Software Writings

Your momma and me donít get along.
We love each other.
We just ran out of things to say.
Guess Iím in the way.
Nothingís right, but neither of us
Is wrong.

Iíll still see you when I can.
Sundays weíll have
All day long to share.
Weíll go to the faire.
Call anytime, Iíll always be your
Old man.

Watch me glide
Up and down.
Tip your hat
To the Sunday clown.
Heís there for you.
Still there for you.

Doctor, lawyer, Commander-in-Chief,
You can be anything
That you want to be.
So donít look at me.
I once stole your mommaís heart, but I never was
A thief.

Once we were young, and we had nothing but hope.
We chased our future, but all we caught was enough rope
To hang ourselves by our plans and schemes,
And all our sentimental dreams.
Rock-a-bye, then down comes cradle and all.
Ashes, ashes, everybody must fall.
Watch me fall!

Letís go riding in the park.
Weíll rent a carriage,
And then just roll away.
Of course, itís okay.
Besides, your momma likes you home before
It gets dark.

Late at night, when Iím on my own,
I lie awake
And watch these dreams unfold.
Iím gonna get old.
And sometimes it seems so far to go
Alone.

Watch me glide
Up and down.
Tip your hat
To the Sunday clown.
Heís there for you.
Still there for you.