|
There's kids with sticks |
|
And they're chasing birds, a summer picnic |
|
Would they be happy if they hit one |
|
I hope their clumsy swings forgive the bird with the broken wing |
|
The laughing parents shake their heads and say |
|
(Chorus) |
|
Boys will be boys |
|
They never really have a choice |
|
The building blocks are built before they play |
|
Boys will be boys |
|
There's no use being paranoid |
|
Don't you know that they'll be men one day |
|
Are these the same |
|
Enemies that called us dirty names |
|
When the bell was rung the fight was on |
|
But they're so small |
|
Maybe we could take them after all |
|
The principal would shake his head and say |
|
(Chorus) |
|
Greasy hair on the witness stand |
|
Empty bottle stare |
|
Never cared much for the abattoir |
|
Was he the stick |
|
Or the broken bird that no one knew to fix |
|
I guess the answer's in the DNA |
