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What's Right?
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My Stuff You sit around here, with a remote in hand
Your weapon against the complaints of your family.
You pay no attention to your daughter, crying with hunger,
and keep on typing on that computer, changing the channel, or sipping a diet soda.
What the hell is your problem?
You've never been a father to me,
You've just been that annoying presence that
Lurked in the room, silent and watching,
Always criticizing, never complimenting.
Can I ever do anything right in your eyes?
Can you ever do the right thing in mine?
