Son of a Gun

This is a story of a guy
Who once lived in delight like you
This is a story of a boy
Who traded his life of toys for you

His cheeks sting
His eyes are red
He can never rest his head without one eye open
And the marks on his nose
Stretch down to his toes
And the print of his father stained across his face

He's the son of a gun
A loaded one
Triggered by sudden movement
He's the son of a gun
A literal one
Armed with every passing second
And like tick, tick, tick, tick, tick
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick

This is a story of that boy
Who came from the guy
Whose face stung still
This is a story of that boy
Whose father was a lot like the one before

His cheeks sting
His eyes were red
He can never rest his head without one eye open
And the marks on his nose
Much like the ones on those
Hands that struck him like his father's father had before

He's the son of a gun
A loaded one
Triggered by sudden movement
He's the son of a gun
A literal one
Armed with every passing second
And like tick, tick, tick, tick, tick
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick

His cheeks sting
His eyes are red
He can never rest his head without one eye open

And now he's grown old
And he does what he's been told
To turn into the gun