My father lifted me upon his shoulders
I could see the whole of our street
The wrought iron gates of all the tiny empires
That marked where their dominions were complete
Their bicycles, their dirty Morris Minor
Their garages with automatic doors

And he said
"Someday, son
Someday son
None of this will be yours"

The Devil, well, he took me on a picnic
Showed me all the kingdoms of the earth
Pulled me up a spreadsheet of their riches
Calculated what each king was worth
When he knew I could resist no longer
Like the little boy who asked for more

Well, he said
"Someday, son
Someday son
None of this will be yours"

None of the money
And none of the sun
None of the honey, you'll only get stung
None of the pleasure
None of the fun
Of the fun
Of the fun
Of the fun
No, no, no

Now I wake up laughing every morning
Guess I finally managed to adjust
I've done away with fear and disillusion
Hopelessness, corruption, and disgust
And now I have a child in New York City
Crawling cross the carpet on the floor

And I say
"Someday, son
Someday son
None of that will be yours
Someday, son
None of that will be yours"

Copyright: O/B/O DistroKid
Writer(s): WESLEY STACE