Your Old Man's Son

The day you were born, |I thought about the day I die, |For the first time in my self centered life, I realized,|You're going to need me around,|When the training wheels come off,|To teach you how to throw my breaking ball,|Hook a rainbow trout, hold a turkey call, and be there that fall,|When you take that eight pointer down.||And I pray you don't smoke,|The truth is I did it, |Drink, cuss and fight, |And push every limit,|But who am I kidding|You're my spitting image, my blood,|You are your old man's son.||I teach you all that I know,|Oh but chances are you choose your own road,|And it'll lead you to a few dead ends,|Some start over again's, |You'll say 'Damn this old hard head of mine'.||And I pray you don't smoke,|The truth is I did it, |Drink, cuss and fight, |And push every limit,|But who am I kidding,|You're my spitting image, my blood,|You are your old man's son.||On the day that I leave here,|You're still going to be here,|And you'll have a boy of your own,|And all the nights when you miss me,|Fill a flask of brown whiskey,|And pour me a shot on my stone. ||I pray you don't smoke,|But hell we both did it, |Drink, cuss and fight, |And push every limit,|But who are we kidding,|You'll be our spitting image, our blood,|He'll be his old man's son,|Like I was my old man's,|Like you are your old man's son. |Old man's sons. ||||