Southern baptist bound and tied
For a life that has forgotten
The wounds of young too deep and true
American blue, red white and cool
From a father who didn't know mercy
And a mother who couldn't find freedom
Free-mom R.I.P. the chains with growing pains
And rid yourself of the pasture times and pastor’s lines
Poised and coinless left to devices of her own
She strives when and if the time is right
Or wrongly strongly holding onto a glimpse
Of a future worth fighting for
Tangled wicked web of stitches
Snitches get a glimpse then twitch
For the Pastor’s voice still holds its valore
Shell never say a work about what happened in those parts
Not today, nor not ever
