I'm Not the Daughter of Your Dreams.

I know life fucked you over young,
and I get it that you work hard.
I've heard you never got to have fun,
and yes, you told me of your broken heart.

Mom, you gotta grow up sometime,
you can't stay 16 forever.
You're quitting jobs and pinching dimes,
saying, "we gotta stay together."

I blame myself, just like you do,
for Daddy's death and our situation.
All the tears I've cried, you have no clue.
Mom, all these years I've been so patient.

Please quit calling me a whore,
and if you can, stop selling drugs?
Hun, I know you're insecure.
That's no excuse to fuck brainless thugs.

You used to have a heart,
I recall that, somewhere inside.
While it seems you've grown apart,
you've locked it up, or tossed it aside.

I don't mean to chastise you,
but could you chastise me?
Don't let me have sex in your room,
and dude, grow up. Don't give me weed.

I appreciate the freedom,
but this is just too much.
While you don't have to believe it,
I tend to give in to lust.