Charles Bukowski - My Old Man lyrics

16 years old during the depression
I’d come home drunk and all my clothing–
Shorts, shirts, stockings–
Suitcase, and pages of short stories
Would be thrown out on the
Front lawn and about the street
My mother would be waiting behind a tree:
"Henry, Henry, don’t go in he’ll
Kill you, he’s read your stories "
"I can whip his ass "

"Henry, please take this and
Find yourself a room"

But it worried him that I might not
Finish high school so I’d be back
Again

One evening he walked in with the pages of
One of my short stories
(which I had never submitted to him)
And he said, "this is a great short story"
I said, "ok, " and he handed it to me
And I read it it was a story about
A rich man who had a fight with
His wife and had gone out into the night
For a cup of coffee and had observed
The waitress and the spoons
And forks and the salt and pepper shakers
And the neon sign in the window
And then had gone back to his stable
To see and touch his favorite horse
Who then kicked him in the head
And killed him somehow
The story held meaning for him
Though when I had written it
I had no idea of what I was
Writing about

So I told him, "ok, old man, you can
Have it"

And he took it and walked out
And closed the door i guess that’s
As close as we ever got