We Were Boys
Childhood memories, fields of spring, watching bumble bees at their work.
Had a wiffle bat as did two younger brothers, now I feel like a jerk.
Did a deal of bashing, the occasional batting, my jar ready for the reward.
The mischief of youthful "must win" determination, or was it that we were bored?
Nine bees in a jar, three are just stunned, man I was doing so well.
One woke up, darn I was stung and now it was starting to swell.
Nine bees in a jar, this time they're all dead, or at least they know how to play.
Brian's got twelve, I'm slipping behind, and Mike's made a killing today.
Mike got bored and quietly left the game, ha! His bees are all mine.
Brian got stung, there goes his fun, returning to home for a time.
Looking over fields down trampled and Lord if grandpa saw what we've done.
Somehow I reckon he wouldn't be happy, but wow I must say that was fun.
Jar full of bees, I'm all alone, man there goes all the joy.
The things that we did, revisited by man, remembering when he was a boy.
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