Pops Song - L.A. Symphony

Yo, this one goes out to all the unsung heroes

The ones that’s raising their kids and loving their wives

This is dedicated to Doug Atkins, Kofi Boateng, Manuel Palma Senior,

and of course Phillip Soto rest in peace

Yeah

It’s my eighth birthday, 1984

I wake up to shoes, clothes, toys and more

Everybody that I loved stared through the front door

Who are you?

I’ve never seen your face before

Unsure of what to say, I don’t speak at all

you look like me standing six feet tall

Back to the wall uncomfortable with you in my house

I wish that mom would kick you out

Time to blow the candles out, happy birthday we sing

I notice, that you don’t say a thing

A gift you didn’t bring, and mom looked sad

She had to tell her little boy that you were his dad

Feeling bad,, I don’t see nothing good

Trade you in for a new dad if I could

Still you stood, until you stepped out for a smoke

The smoke cleared, and you disappeared like a ghost

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone

I didn’t have the average black dad

Planting the seed that grow mad

Wondering if everything I had inside me was bad

My pops was African and proud

My mom’s from L.A. and loud

They’d disagree until the sun went down

Come around my fifth year of school they were cool on staying together

My pops was like «Whatever I do, it’s to better you kids

And I did, all that I know to do

But your mother tends to misguide you

What’s most important is school

She’d rather you fail, but know your bible

She’s my rival, she’ll disagree, just to start a fight»

So, back and forth they’d go, with their defensive reason

Mom would work my father checked our homework every evening

I was deceiving, F’s and D’s I was receiving

I didn’t get whippings I got African beatings

I hope I’m not misleading my pop’s a great man

Still lobbying for college, still an anti-rap fan

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone

Yo, how many short comings he has

But he’s full of love and deep

Ever since my birth when he was only 17

Faithful to my mother, he saw her as a queen

Wouldn’t leave her bedside when cancer came to the scene

He’s a, man of faith, a pillar in the church

But mostly, my dad’s about (work, work, work)

Uh-huh

Some would say my dad’s a workaholic and

Some would say that I’m a workaholic and

Now that’s how we usually relate

A similar struggle, where our debts communicate

Financial provision and is a blessing

He’s taught me perseverance, through all of life’s testing

It’s, do or die, never quit, stand firm in faith

Wise in counsel, attentive with the ear

Even thousands of miles away, I know he’s right here

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone

Nobody on the planet can do your job

No better combination than you and mom

When it’s right it’s right

When it’s wrong it’s wrong

A house ain’t a home when daddy’s gone