He’s a little boy, sweet innocence,
Against priestly-rites worth seven pence,
And Mama, Papa, don’t you care?

While Father’s searching for his peace in a bottle;
Billy’s the only thing there…

Run little boy, Billy, run,
Old Father’s drunk, hear him whine again,
Crying misery and wallowin’…
A nightly muse for his chagrin,
And you’re the one he calls his; “sin.”'

So run little boy, Billy, run,
Cause Father’s drunk on his wine again,
Into his holy chambers -he’ll drag you in,
To show something he calls a sin,
And take you down to Hell with him.

He was a little boy, sweet innocence,
His name was Billy and he was heaven-sent,
A tortured child who lost his faith,
To the drunken musing’s of a cold-hearted wraith,

Run little boy, Billy, run; Jesus weeps for you son.
*Run little boy, Billy, run; Jesus weeps for you son.