The Prodigal Son - Two Gallants

Well, I’ve been a disclaimer for twenty-four years

Poor mother drowned in a pillow of tears

Im well known in story, famous in song

The black sheep, the blemish, the one who went wrong

The black sheep, the blemish, the one who went wrong

My crime is discomfort, my mind ill at ease

They’ll grow on my shoulder, my favorite disease

My siblings, my rivals might tend to my wake

Grieve me not brothers, I was mother’s mistake

Grieve me not brothers, I was mother’s mistake

And all the grand expectations of an epic of wealth

Leave me long to crawl back to the womb

Well, I’ve tasted your grace, placed it back on the shelf

Drag your pedigree wives to your tomb

Drag your pedigree wives to your tomb

Well, I came from this city, a victim of peace

But I’ve grown far too filthy to attend to the feast

So I take to the hills to live savage and free

I dont need nobody, nobody needs me I dont need nobody, nobody needs me