Home for Christmas

My name's Mike and I'm a big boy.
February I'll be eight.
Got this puppy I take care of
and when he's good I let him stay up late.

Mama works at baggin' groceries
down at Grady's grocery store.
Papa works at loading trailers.
He don't work down there no more.

I don't want no bike to ride.
I don't want no jungle gym.
Want my Papa home for Christmas.
I just want to hold his hand.

Sometimes Papa he plays army
just like I do now and then.
Packs his bags and gets a haircut,
couple days he's home again.

Something happened strange last summer.
Mama cried for days on end.
Said, "Papa's going to be a soldier.
This time boy, it's not pretend".

I don't want no bike to ride.
I don't want no jungle gym.
Want my Papa home for Christmas.
I just want to hold his hand.

Late last night my doorbell's ringing.
Mama moved so awful slow.
A feller gave my Mom a letter,
shook her hand and turned to go.

She placed the letter on the table.
How my Mama trembled so.
I never was too much on readin'
but that don't mean that I don't know.

I don't want no bike to ride.
I don't want no jungle gym.
Want my Papa home for Christmas.
I just want to hold his hand.

I don't want no bike to ride.
I don't want to understand
want my Pappa home for Christmas
I just want to hold his hand.

My name's Mike and I'm a big boy.