调：Gb major•
Verse 1
that's just hittin' forty.
I've a good lovin' man
who's both sixty and young.
Three children we've born,
their young lives we've guarded.
They strain at the leash,
ever ready to run.
her laughter and prattle.
I could sing of a son
who is nearly a man.
forever a lover,
But I'll sing of the boy
At running and jumping,
at games of the season,
the best you have seen.
At arguing, fine points of logic and reason,
His method is one of a boy
of thirteen.
The smile of his mother,
the face of his father,
the tongue of his granny
and a mind of his own.
On every subject he holds an opinion
and he'll swear that he's right
and the whole world is wrong.
He watches me closely,
he gauges my temper,
he knows just the moment
to ask for a lend.
He'll wash the car and wipe all the dishes
And then he'll complain
about making his bed
His face always mucky,
his shoes always dirty
His hair is uncombed
and his jacket is torn
His belongings are scattered
from basement to attic
Yet he knows where they are
like the crow finds the corn
Son of my youth,
so honest and open,
I'm proud of your will,
your compulsion to fight.
Keep raising your voice,
insist that you're counted,
and if you're wrong,
the world sets you aright.
Son of my heart,
thoughtful and loving,
the image of life and as elusive to hold.
Today I am weary,
so man, child, please hear me.
No doubt you're right,
but do as you're told.
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