Did I achieve your expectations or did I fail many times along the way.
When you watched from way up there, were there things you longed to say.
"Now lift your game, sonny boy, maybe you should learn the rules each day.
It's not too late my favourite son, winning's not how God rates each play.
I concede winning offers accolade, it sometimes brings wealth and reward,
But those currencies don't carry favour in the Heavenly home of the Lord.
He judges not on what you do and he knows everything you think and say,
It's not too late my favourite son, winning's not how God rates each play.
Dad's words ring loud and true, the connection's damn near perfect today,
He's blueing with some Angels who are suggesting it's time for him to pray.
His language is appalling just like when you're digging and strike hard clay,
The bad language is flowing, but whining don't effect how God rates each play.
Dad's back in the good books, he's back sitting by dear old Mumma's side,
Still talks about the day she walked down the aisle and she became his bride.
He smiles an' he tells her, she is his greatest blessing every day
Then he swears he will never question God's ratings of each an' every play.
