Your mother would be proud of you
That's what you told me

When I asked her, her opinion, she turned and said to me

One day he will be jailed, or my four will become three

When I pointed out your white lies
And each great or small misdeed

Objecting, you'd cry,  "I'll make
"Something" from my misery."

I cried, and I tried to tell you before it happened
What comes from this foolish pride

& You cocked your head, laughing back
While spitting in my eyes