My brother went to prison
my father went to war
and I just stayed in this here town
and worked at the store
My mother said I'd potential
my father laughed at that
and when my mother went to heaven
my father up and left
I'm a heavy, heavy hitter
Fighting well under my weight
I never wanted children
for fear they'd be like me
so instead I grew a garden
which I treated neglectfully
and as the flowers wilted
I stood there in the dirt
thinkin 'bout the children
and how lucky they were
to not have a father
as bruised and broked scorned
I'm a heavy, heavy hitter
fighting well under my weight