Well they say as a child, Charlie’s mother would crynHis father would beat him by the shed outsidenAnd no one would listen and no one came bynHe grew to be older and swallow his pridennWhen he first left his home he was only sixteennHe followed his heart or he followed his dreamnBut it all fell apart, or it split at the seamnHe grew to be older and he grew to be meannnCharlie would say it don’t matter that muchnA slap on the face like a want and a touchnSometimes that temper can act as a crutchnBetter watch your step, ChucknnShe was a froline, a young touristnShe was the swan who started all thisnThere were sailors and mad men and they were all pissednThe blood started flowing over one reckless kissnnWell, the authorities came with a howl of the houndsnThey emptied their guns but they paid for their roundsnAnd they took poor Charlie to the center of townnWhere they strung him up just to knock him back downnnCharlie would say it don’t matter that muchnA slap on the face like a want and a touchnSometimes that temper can act as a crutchnBetter watch your step, ChucknnWell, the judge, he was mean and he drew a deep breathnHe sentenced poor Charlie to a quick hanging deathnBut little did he know that the rope would soon breaknA sign that his life, well a court couldn’t takennCapital punishment fits like a glovenBut a sentence like that only comes from abovenWhen you’re raised as a child with a kick and a shovenIt’s sad that a man has to die without lovennCharlie would say it don’t matter that muchnA slap on the face like a want and a touchnSometimes that temper can act as a crutchnBetter watch your step, Chuckn