Take Me Home Papa

I wish I wouldn't eat to be past eight,
And no bettor would think I'll be better,
So that everything will be billed to my build age,
And would just be,
Yeah be just like any other bee.

And now I'm a beet to be beaten,
A beaut on a butte,
All that I've been in a bin
My board bored.

You said it was over when I got immersed in the cay
But the quay is now the key to my past
My senses forgotten like census
Every coin is a cornerstone to my downfall,
And now my clothes moves me close to hell.

And now I'm fed up of crying,
I've given up on trying,
Maybe I'll try giving,
But all I want is be born again
And be that Papa's child everyone knew of.

© Expired Giant