Southern Gothic​

Well Daddy didn’t teach me muchExcept to not fall for the same trick twice,And Mamma used to always sayThe good Lord don’t roll no dice.

I suppose that meansHe’s not a gambling man,But I’m not quite sureOf how that pertainsCause what’s the big man got to gain?

Well Daddy didn’t teach me muchExpect how to play a mean round of pool,And how to eye the crowdTo tell a player from a fool.

Daddy liked to play the odds.Would put a Jackson and a JamesonAtop the pool table,And butter up some poor sapWith words as sweet as maple.

After Daddy would winHe’d throw back the Jameson,And ask if they’d want to rack again.Either way, He’d order another whiskey on ice,And the whole time I’d just thinkOf how the good Lord don’t roll no dice.

I guess that meansDaddy’s not much of a godly man,And I’d often wonderHow that fit into the Lord’s plan.

Well once I told MommaI didn’t much comprehendHow come God made us this wayAnd still punish us for sin?She just shook her head,Stared at me a moment, and saidBoy, the devil does what you ask of himBut that don’t make him a friend.