Russell G. Robison


My father was a carpenter
They called me little claw
He built a lot of houses
With my head in Arkansas

I can’t say that I blame him,
I can’t say much at all
They say that my flat forehead
Is simply just a minor flaw

I never get confused
Although I’m not so sure that’s true
But when you’re banging walls
There isn’t much that you can do

He’s out there building something
For that’s where he gets a thrill
Just wish that in my childhood
He had learned to use a drill