He was never there for me He rarely looked my way When he'd come home tired from work He never had a thing to say And if he ever spoke to me It was always in anger When I tried to speak to him He'd treat me like a stranger What kind of father hits his son, Takes out his pain on everyone? Thinks only of himself, like he's the only one Who exists in the world that needs someone What chance did I have Of turning out right? I never learned a thing at home That could help me with my life Always being yelled at And deprived of any fun That childhood should consist of Never loved by anyone She always shot me down With a bullet from her mouth She made me feel so guilty If I wanted to leave the house She'd disregard everyone In a power-hungry spree Clean the house like a psycho Driven by her OCD What kind of mother neglects her son, Puts down her child, says he's no one? Thinks only of herself and if her house is clean Wants nothing more than status and prestige What chance did I have Of turning out right? I never learned a thing at home That could help me with my life Always being yelled at And deprived of any fun That childhood should consist of Never loved by anyone No chance of having self-esteem No chance when rage is a constant theme No chance of showing love for their son No chance when they think about themselves or else no one No chance when innocence is reviled No chance when blame is placed upon a child No chance if good examples can't be found No chance if parents do not want to be around