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by Greg Lee

Drivin' the nail with a smack of my bat
Cheerin' the buzzer as it fries the gnats
So I'm up in the tree-house and night's gettin' nearer
I hear through my cup 'n' string Mama (dinner's done)
I never knew any voice nearer or dearer

Lucky to be my parents' son
I'm my parents' son

I cracked up the class with a wit what would sting
The unsavory element crowned me its king
The strip was a funhouse of havoc and Bacchus
I scoffed at the pleas of my Mama (careful, son)
And Pop got his watch back - the pawnshop was gracious

Lucky to be my parents' son
I'm my parents' son

Some expert 'll say it's the way I was raised
I don't think they know me too well
My folks were the only ones kept me from falling to hell

Now don't you believe that jury of my peers
Y'see I thought that man in Vermont was a deer
Five years in the big house made life a bit clearer
Through the visitor's Plexiglas Mama (come home, son)
And Pop bought my stuff back from some auctioneer

Lucky to be my parents' son
I'm my parents' son