People call me an S.O.B. in a bar,

I say how do you know my mom,

She has been dead sometime,

And lived away so very far…

So her son was a bastard,

Who would of thunk he would have grown to be a bard,

Writing of the humor in the world, trying to be a card,

Guess to a degree this news did make him scarred,

But he lived with it, not caring,

Just for the most part he did from his mind it discard…

Not married were his folks,

Definitely was it not a hoax,

Him born in nineteen and fifty four,

He could have belonged to other blokes,

Instead of two parents that were little more than each a whore…

© ed ~ 3/31/06