My father had a big stick,
As big as any tree,
And when I thought of something wrong
I knew it was for me.
My father had a big stick,
I always feared the sound;
Wherever that I went it seemed
To follow me around.
My father had a big stick,
He stood behind my back;
I knew that I was for it
When I heard a mighty crack.
My father took his big stick
And broke it on his knee,
Then placed the pieces on a hill
For all the world to see.
I turned and saw a broken man
I didn't recognize,
But when I looked into his face
I saw my father's eyes.
Now when I see that broken stick
There planted like a tree,
I know I had my father wrong –
It never was for me.
