It is of the ole school kind of way
no child of mine hangs out with the cowards and wastrels
call it tough love, call it what you like
but you were not born to sit in the camp of the faceless tools
the blunt axes who drink tears for wines
for as you come of age
you will stand uphill and own your mind
and when Sango shrieks his thunderous refrains
it will be to greet you not to frighten you
for it knows your forefathers from its shrine and it domain
just as you know the kind of blood
that flows through your veins
you are my son of my flesh
not a child of the lost in freedom mothers
begging love to deceive child and man
you are yours and your father's father's father
and in reasons, wisdom and harsh tones
we read you scripts and showed you ways
for you shape samplings
to grow even mighty oaks
so, call it tough love, call it what you like
we raised you to know who you are
the spirits of fortune will salute you
while grown little men weep and gnash their teeth