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The Progeny

The Progeny

1 min
240


Prayers won

A prodigal son

Joy and relief

Belied belief


Mild as mild

Wild as wild

Self styled

Destiny's child


Grew up quick

Nice and slick

Soft but firm

On his own terms


Wouldn't suck

By chance or luck

Wouldn't sit

And take bullshit


The world viewed

His attitude

As rough and naive

Fit to deprive


He stood his ground

Without a sound

No one dissolved

His massive resolve


His critics' silence

And their fall

Was not in violence

But in standing tall


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