|
Dripping streetlights
|
darkened buildings
|
wandering
|
head hung down low.
|
Where will she go?
|
|
Woman child, your eyes are wild.
|
The rain runs down your hair.
|
Woman child, mercy mild.
|
What will you tell your teddy bear?
|
|
I turned you on my solid body
|
my electric Gibson guitar.
|
My clever fingers searched
|
and found exactly where you are.
|
You went too far.
|
|
I was an early morning phone call.
|
What news have I received.
|
A halting voice is telling me,
|
what we have both conceived,
|
asking how the dilemma,
|
how can it be releived?
|
|
"I will give you money, Honey.
|
I will set up a time.
|
But you got to go there on your own babe,
|
'cause I don't know that it's mine."
|
|
Oh woman child
|
mama's little angel's been defiled.
|
Took a taxi to the clinic
|
where they do the modern thing.
|
The white coat doctor
|
laid her out said
|
|
"You won't feel a thing.
|
You get the sweet salvation
|
that little old knife can bring.
|
You don't have to worry 'bout no offspring.
|
That's that.
|
Go Home and take a nap.
|
It's just a two hundred dollar mishap.
|
It don't mean a thing.
|
It's all over now
|
you can tell your singer to sing.
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Woman Child
|
Harry Chapin |