Lyrics Pops Song - L.A. Symphony

Pops Song

Yo, this one goes out to all the unsung heroes
The ones that’s raising their kids and loving their wives
This is dedicated to Doug Atkins, Kofi Boateng, Manuel Palma Senior,
and of course Phillip Soto rest in peace
Yeah
It’s my eighth birthday, 1984
I wake up to shoes, clothes, toys and more
Everybody that I loved stared through the front door
Who are you?
I’ve never seen your face before
Unsure of what to say, I don’t speak at all
you look like me standing six feet tall
Back to the wall uncomfortable with you in my house
I wish that mom would kick you out
Time to blow the candles out, happy birthday we sing
I notice, that you don’t say a thing
A gift you didn’t bring, and mom looked sad
She had to tell her little boy that you were his dad
Feeling bad,, I don’t see nothing good
Trade you in for a new dad if I could
Still you stood, until you stepped out for a smoke
The smoke cleared, and you disappeared like a ghost
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone
I didn’t have the average black dad
Planting the seed that grow mad
Wondering if everything I had inside me was bad
My pops was African and proud
My mom’s from L.A. and loud
They’d disagree until the sun went down
Come around my fifth year of school they were cool on staying together
My pops was like «Whatever I do, it’s to better you kids
And I did, all that I know to do
But your mother tends to misguide you
What’s most important is school
She’d rather you fail, but know your bible
She’s my rival, she’ll disagree, just to start a fight»
So, back and forth they’d go, with their defensive reason
Mom would work my father checked our homework every evening
I was deceiving, F’s and D’s I was receiving
I didn’t get whippings I got African beatings
I hope I’m not misleading my pop’s a great man
Still lobbying for college, still an anti-rap fan
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone
Yo, how many short comings he has
But he’s full of love and deep
Ever since my birth when he was only 17
Faithful to my mother, he saw her as a queen
Wouldn’t leave her bedside when cancer came to the scene
He’s a, man of faith, a pillar in the church
But mostly, my dad’s about (work, work, work)
Uh-huh
Some would say my dad’s a workaholic and
Some would say that I’m a workaholic and
Now that’s how we usually relate
A similar struggle, where our debts communicate
Financial provision and is a blessing
He’s taught me perseverance, through all of life’s testing
It’s, do or die, never quit, stand firm in faith
Wise in counsel, attentive with the ear
Even thousands of miles away, I know he’s right here
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone
Nobody on the planet can do your job
No better combination than you and mom
When it’s right it’s right
When it’s wrong it’s wrong
A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone