Feeling trapped - no really trapped - by never enough money
To feed the kids and get along, and he comes mostly home
But his moods and ways are far far worse than theirs
And there's no one there to help when he gets out of hand

It used to be you could at least think about moving out
Dragging it all over to mom's, or to her sister's pad
But she's downsized and moved, to Florida, somewhere like that
Your aunt went and got a boyfriend and he's just as bad

At least he doesn't really hit the kids too much
And it's mostly when they give him some sort of reason
But only when he's mad at work - or maybe the television
And it didn't used to be you at all, but now it's open season

"So look," we tell you, "You gotta get yourself out of there -
"We can help you move your stuff out some afternoon
"A halfway house, a burner phone, put the kids in foster care
"And with any luck the cops won't tell him when you left or where"

11/18/24