| No, *Whimper*
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| I don’t have any recollection of the first time a kid felt
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| The piercing sting, a whip burst from his belt
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| And try to stay off my side with the worst welts
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| And crying «Mama, please stop him. |
| It hurts. |
| Help.»
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| When I hear the Hyundai pull up, in the closet I slide
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| Behind ‘em coats, prayin' I don’t see them boots, or I’ll hide (No!)
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| «Please let me be,» I hoped and cried
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| But mother always told him I was inside, fuck
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| His big hand reaches in (Come here!), Fists my hair
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| Stricken with panic, I feel it rips and tears
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| Yellow underwear, again I pissed in fear
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| Always caught the beatings, never just a scare
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| I turned twelve and got a bowling pin. |
| He trash picked
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| I said, «I don’t bowl,» then owned a fat lip
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| Mama laughs when asked how bad my stepdad hits
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| I’m just a sack of shit to beat on, I admit, because
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| I’m the dog who gets beat
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| (Go lay down! Bad dog!)
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| (Go outside! Bad dog!)
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| Shove my nose in shit
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| (Go outside! Bad dog!)
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| (Go outside! Bad dog!)
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| Why won’t mother save me?
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| (Go lay down! Bad dog!)
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| Save me |