Grown Men as Children
Oh sister, sister, where is your husband?
They took his sorry behind off to jail,
left me weeping. Now I cannot stand
that I must do a sinful deed for bail.
He'll soon be coming home, sick and pale.
Some day he'll meet his end, but, this I knew
when he came knocking, lovingly, full of ale.
How my sweet man would always be untrue,
would always be a fool. Would have to risk
elusive life, whose fickle behavior,
slippery fingers and bloodstained fists
can make strong men shilly-shally, waiver.
And he will be the one to utter, "Help"
Sister, sister, time to fetch your wayward whelp.
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