Dear Old Lady,
My old, old lady keeps talkin’ shit
about me behind my back.
“What a heartless daughter”
she spreads that to the gathered.
My father has cancer.
I don’t know no further,
But dad ain’t old and decrepit, so quit causin’ dispute
and callin’ me a heartless daughter, trick.
He left momma and me quicker than a broke entrepeneur,
so fast I couldn’t even feel anger.
Granny, let’s look at my dad again, flashback.
He and my momma commit,
nothin’ comes between ’em but a pack.
Smoke it, drink it! Four siblings and some years later
I’ve got somethin to wonder over
cause that ain’t a lover’s hand crawlin’ down my pants.
Oh grandma, no, let me finish, I insist.
Papa had a tent but it wasn’t at home out back.
He had it set up for a honker
and before I could really wonder, he left mama for her.
Grandma, your hands seem a little slack.
I’ll admit, when it comes to dad, love might as well quit
but don’t have a fit, I’m takin the Amtrak.
I’ll do what’s proper,
so stop callin’ me a heartless daughter,
like he deserves a father of the year plaque.
Still Thinking About It 