Yeah, get her on the phone

Speak to her son

You know I miss home

A story about this boy from the South

Mummy was out, night shift to keep the house

No handouts, no Dad round

Stay home, do homework

Like mum do, move back home

If not

You could regret my son

He who does not love

Abides in death

It was heaven sent

I was never meant

For the schoolyard bully

For the toolbox money

Did it on my own

She couldn’t read chemical equation

I couldn’t eat the bone

You boy not grown

No, I feel alone (No)

You have your Mamma, and that is all you need

Look at your power, and the way that you exceed

Took my weakness, and made a strength out of me

African solution

Citizen’s pollution

Tie a shoe string and

Survive by the rules

You’re a fool, just go back to school

Or I’ll send you on plane, give your uncles a call

Nighttime walks, antecedent oratory

Sing a song of dreamland

Forever purgatory

He took you from your family and settled you in North

And then you put me on your back and gave him a divorce

What would you think if you heard this song?

My present Mother, my hero unsung

Yeah, get her on the phone

Speak to her son

You know I miss home

You know I miss home

Hey Mama

Hey Papa

Coming home, on the road, in the dark

Past six, on the phone, in the park

Coming home

Coming home

Hey Mama

Hey Papa

Coming home, on the road, in the dark

Past six, on the phone, in the park

Coming home

Coming home

He was raised by his mum in the ‘burbs

A woman who was liberal with words

Liberal with teachings and preachings she’d lecture

Still he’d never listen to her endless conjecture

Sucked sugar cane in the summer with his Granddad

Found what he needed the freedom in acres papers were made for others

Never him

Still he found warmth in the darkest of kin

Skin baked black but he bore this with pride

Hands cracked dry till the day he died

He moved to the south and created a life

One wife and a child with enough to provide

He laughed at the people who moved with the times

He moved with the tide

Watched it wash the shore sweetly and dreamt of the life that he’d left

Awoke to a new day calves in the pen

Community close with innumerable friends

The taste of amok with steamed rice and curry

Cold beer brew in his hammock no worries

Laid back

Way back

Mac daddy

Still slim waisted in loose fit khakis

A canopy of trees on the way to his home

Green palette gate that he painted alone

Clay dirt track hidden by the mangroves

A humble abode he’d imbued with his soul

Head full of kindness heart full of light

Though he never read prose nor needed to write

Those with the least are the kindest he thought

As he shared pork with the orphans and poor

Sliced fresh fruit for the kids on his stoop

Blended a batch then he served it as juice

Show me the proof that he didn’t live well

Surrounded by loved ones with stories to tell

Kampuchea (Kampuchea)

Hey Mama

Hey Papa

Coming home, on the road, in the dark

Past six, on the phone, in the park

Coming home

Coming home

Hey Mama

Hey Papa

Coming home, on the road, in the dark

Past six, on the phone, in the park

Coming home

Coming home

Home is where the heart is

Look at where we started (Yeah, yeah)

Home is where the heart is

Look at where we started (Yeah)

Home is where the heart is

Look at where we started (I’m sorry Mama)

Home is where