It Doesn't Mean A Thing

Well I never knew my mother

But I can't say it was so bad

She was still a girl of seventeen on the night she met my dad

He was just six months out of Chino

Trying his hardest to stay clean

And they'd sing and they'd sing and they'd sing

Like doves sleeping with broken wings

In a bed made for a king

It didn't mean a thing

It was a shotgun forest wedding

But they forgot to bring the guns

They were too busy counting promises

To the children not yet born

No one could afford the ride

They just hitched up the 101

And they'd sing and they'd sing and they'd sing

Like doves dancing with broken wings

With a view fit for a king

It didn't mean a thing

There was a loneliness they would confess

Like the world had gone bad, I guess

So they'd hold hands looking to the eyes of God

They'd say "Tell me why'd you hide from us?

Why'd you fill this world with wickedness?

Why'd you spare us from your grace, but not the rod?"

Now my dad says, "Fuck the details,

Just keep your head down hard

You got to find yourself alone

Before you'll find the eyes of God

You may be broke and scared and mad and tear

At the flesh of your heart-strings

But you were born to be a peasant not a king

So just stop acting like you're running from something

You're gonna leave the way you came without a thing

With your heart tied to your mind tied to a string

You just sing and you sing and you sing"

It doesn't mean a thing