You Know What Your Problem Is
See you been living off Momma’s good name.
Been skating on Daddy’s good fortune.
But you never want to breathe a word
about how you squander your healthy portion.

You get paid and run to the Silver Moon
with hopes of hitting it big on black
Then here you come, same tail-tucked tune
 “I promise I’ll pay ya’ll back.”

You want life to be a Sunday walk—
fresh bream without spiny rays.
You want sweet corn without breaking the stalk.
No sweat, but every drop of praise.

You spend too much time comparing your life
and believing  you’ve got it worst.
And all your whining about your wretched lot
got you stalled out in reverse.

Remember back when we were young—
How you begged for a herringbone chain—
Daddy got you one—It got a kink—
And yo’ spoiled ass threw it away!

You want the world to see you Napa Valley
when we’re just pokeweed and muscadine.
And you have to accept, with the quickness,
that it just be like that sometimes.
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