My pride got in the way
of my daddy making brandy.
It was a cold November day,
when dusk came, the lion shed its mane.
Now, by a cedar tree, left lying, was an
old bitter piece.
My daddy took it, it was of use
he stirred his brandy with it,
when he needed to.
Now the old bitter piece
of pure masculinity,
became a part of my daddy’s brandy.
Cedar Brandy, it was levied
left my daddy without a thing.
A bittersweet cedar brandy situation.
Foolhardy cedar brandy,
left my daddy dreaming.
Merely just a drink,
I never got to taste
cause my daddy’s Cedar Brandy
urban story,
of great deprived and unfit rumors.
My daddy’s Cedar Brandy,
didn’t make it.
But I know it all be alright.