Books are immortal sons deifying their sires.

Plato

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Confessin' the Blues
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Baby here I stand before you
With my heart in my hand
I put it to you mama
Hoping that you'll understand
 
Oh, baby
Mama, please don't dog me 'round
Yeah I, I would rather love you, baby
Than anyone else I know in town
 
This is my confession, Mama
And it's sung by all your song
It proves that I'm in heaven, Mama
When you hold me in your arms
 
Well, baby
Can I have you for myself
Yeah, if I can't have you, baby
I don't want nobody else
 
Well, baby
Don't you want a man like me
Well, baby
Don't you want a man like me
Yeah, think about your future, baby
Forget about your used to be