That young boy without a name anywhere I'd know his face.
|
In this city the kid's my favorite.
|
I've seen him. I see him every day.
|
Seen him run outside looking for a place to hide from his father,
|
the kid half naked and said to myself "O, what's the matter here?"
|
I'm tired of the excuses everybody uses, he's their kid I stay out of it,
|
but who gave you the right to do this?
|
|
We live on Morgan Street;
|
just ten feet between and his mother, I never see her,
|
but her screams and cussing, I hear them every day.
|
Threats like: "If you don't mind I will beat on your behind,"
|
"Slap you, slap you silly."
|
made me say, "O, what's the matter here?"
|
I'm tired of the excuses everybody uses, he's your kid, do as you see fit,
|
but get this through that I don't approve of what you did to you own flesh and blood.
|
|
"If you don't sit on this chair straight
|
I'll take this belt from around my waist and don't think that I won't use it!"
|
|
Answer me and take your time,
|
what could be the awful crime he could do at such young an age?
|
If I'm the only witness to your madness offer me some words to balance out what I see and what I hear.
|
Oh these cold and lowly things that you do I suppose you do because he belongs to you
|
and instead of love and the feel of warmth you've given him these cuts and sores don't heal with time or with age.
|
|
And I want to say "What's the Matter here?"
|
But I don't dare say.
|
|
-----------------
|
What's The Matter Here?
|
10000 Maniacs |