I am going to bring up a holler
To make a dollar
I'll call up the orchard girl
Ask me to send me two
So, that I can work next Sunday
My girl got me on a rap
She don't let me out
Until I buy her flower for her son's grave
Soon, he shot himself
After, the Sundays became too frequent
After he turned sixteen
All the bar's closed on him
And the world closed in on him
Divorced parents didn't tell him
Don't blame yourself
Divorced from reality
He didn't know who'd help him
If he wanted to be twelve
When school was easy and life was taught
In home science, a girl gave him hyacinths
Foreign feeling and love wasn't the same in the end
He already started cutting his bolted veins
And counting his breaths
The city doesn't provide a living
If you can't struggle for a future
The city doesn't provide a loving
If you can't struggle to pray for sleep
He had paid his dues
Life is yours
And it is tough
So make it count
Till the fight is done