Cracks in the Ghetto (parody)

Vocals & lyrics by Glen Gordon
Music by Harry Chapin
lyrics
My child got high just the other day
he said thankx for the joint but it smells like hay
but can you teach me to roll, i said not today
He learned to roll while I was away

And he was dealin 'fore I knew it, and as he grew
He'd say "I'm gonna be like you, Dad
i'll visit you in prison soon

cookin crack in the ghetto with a ladle spoon
cops busted me sunday afternoon
When you comin' home, Dad
I don't know when, but we'll go on a bender then yeah
when i get out of the pen

Sold my son some blow just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, fuck no way
Can you teach me to cook ", I said "Not today
i got arrested that night and they put me away

And as they took me away he shook his head and said,
i dont wanna be like him no, not goin to no pri-son

cookin crack in the ghetto with a ladle spoon
cops busted me sunday afternoon
When you comin' home, Dad
I don't know when, but we'll go on a bender then yeah
when i get out of the pen

Well, he came from prison just the other day
not much like a man I just had to say
"Son,whats wrong with you, can you sit for a while"
He shook his head and then he started to cry
they tore my ass apart inside my cell
now my ass it hurts like hell

cookin crack in the ghetto with a ladle spoon
cops busted me sunday afternoon
When you comin' home, Dad
I don't know when, but we'll go on a bender then yeah
when i get out of the pen

I've long since parolled , my son's doin time
I called him up cuz i found a dime
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind"
He said, "I'd love to, Dad,but ive bin solitare confined
the wardens an asshole and mine hurts too
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"

but I hung up on him cuz it occurred to me
he was nothing like me no
My boy was nothin like me

cookin crack in the ghetto with a ladle spoon
cops busted me sunday afternoon
When you comin' home,son
I don't know when, but we'll go on a bender then yeah
when i get out of the pen