I Will Pay You Back Next Week

I made up my mind just the other day
to call up Dad and hear what he'd say
when I told him that all my bills were due
and I wondered if he might agree to come through
with a modest loan to get me by.
Sometimes we don't see eye to eye
when it comes to dollars and cents.

My Dad is not the richest of men,
he can squeeze a dime til Roosevelt grins.
I hoped I might catch him on an upbeat day
so I could happily hear him say:
"How much you need, son?  Glad to assist."
So I made the call and here's the gist
of what he had to say.

"When I was a kid back on the farm
I never used my Dad as a good luck charm.
Whenever your back account runs too low,
I take it for granted I'm the first to know.
Here you come with your hand stuck out
and I know exactly what your visit's about.
How much do you need this time?

My Dad has a way of painting thing black!
I don't think he believes I'll pay him back.
But I will as soon as my ship comes in.
Not my fault that the horse didn't win.
I had good odds on the basketball game,
but wouldn't you know, my luck's the same.
I lost the last loan I got.

So, what would you do if your account ran dry?
I'm not lazy.  I really try.
But I can't win enough to even get by.
Last night at poker I began to cry
when I laid down my cards and saw I'd lost.
My lifestyle has some pretty high costs.
I wish Dad would understand.

He says I ought to get a job,
but that's what I heard from my Uncle Bob.
My cousin in Dallas said that, too,
my sister in Maine declares she's through.
To tell you the truth, I'm really beat.
I've been locked out of my high rise suite.
A family should care for its own.

What have I done to deserve this fate?
How come bad luck always fills my plate?
I bet on a filly and she left the gate
in what appeared to be a hypnotic state.
She ran in circles, never finished the race.
Whatever happened to heavenly Grace?
Hmm.  I think I'll call the preacher now.