What have you done to get a son like me?
Perhaps you’ve sinned a multitude of times
Until your debt is paid you won’t be free
My sonship is the wages of your crimes
But if you flip that question on its head:
“What have I done to get a mom like you,
Without whom I would probably be dead?”
Though you would argue that such words aren’t true
I clearly benefit the most from this
We’re yoked unequally; it’s plain to all
My mother is the steward of my bliss
A source of love from which I may withdraw
I cannot pay you back for what you’ve done
But I shall boast that like you there is none
Words of a Hypocrite 