Derick knew what he had done,
To earn the impression of delinquency.
He had broken the law many times,
And fought with people frequently.
His mother branded him a danger,
To society and himself.
His father branded him a stranger,
His real son lived upon a shelf.
"See this boy here?" his dad would say,
Tapping a photograph of young Derick.
He remembered that day,
When life had been more generic.
That was before his father slouched alone,
Bottle in palm of hand,
Talking to women on the phone,
What a role model, what a man.
"I see the boy," Derrick said,
His voice quiet as night.
"But I don't see the man,
Who prompted me to fight."
Little Derik came across his father,
Back then, talking to his women,
He managed to anger the man,
Who hit him then claimed to be kiddin'.
His father flushed with anger,
He hit his son in the face.
"Don't you dare say that,
You know your place!"
Derick, he was deemed society's menace,
Few cared that his father drove him so,
I hope that you will judge less,
For you simply never know.
