Collected by Billy Whitfield and Steve Butler For M. C. Parler
Sung by Otis Williams Wesley, Arkansas December 27, 1959
Reel 327, Item 10
The Drunkard's Child
You ask me why so often father,
The tears roll down my cheek
And think it strange that I should own
A grief I do not speak.
But, Oh my soul is very sad,
My brain is almost wild;
It breaks my heart to think
That I am called the drunkard's child.
My playmates shun me now father,
Or pass me by with scorn,
Because my dress is ragged,
And my shoes are old and torn.
And if I heard them not.
There goes the drunkard's child, they cry; Then how I wish that God Would only let me die.
You used to love us once father,
And we had bread to eat.
Mama and I were warmly clad And life seemed very sweet.
You never spoke unkindly then,
Or dealt an angry blow.
Oh father 'tis sad to think That drink has changed you so.
Do not be angry now father Because I tell you this,
But let me feel upon my brow Once more your loving kiss.
And promise me those lips no more,
With drink shall be defiled,
That from a life of want and woe,
You'll save your weeping child.
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