The Cicadas Made Me Do It
Big Daddy sure do like to point that finger of his, he conduct life with it. The finger is our cockadoodledoo in the morning—“Wake up, lazy sons of bitches,” he say as he jab our side, it’s our have-a-nice-day, he twirl my hair until it hurt, it’s our goodnight kiss, “I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, you hear?”