Letra de Lotta man (in that little boy)

His life is that blue bike, ball glove an´ fishin´ pole,
Tree-house, BB gun and band aid covered knees.
He does good deliverin´ papers,
An´ cuttin´ grass for the neighbours,
Except for Widow Wilson: he cuts hers for free.
His little hands do a lot for a kid his age,
He puts one-tenth of his hard earned money,
In the offering plate each Sunday by his own choice.
There´s a lotta man in that little boy.

Weekdays, he tries to sleep late:
Weekends, he´s up at daybreak.
Him an´ Roy wadin´ in Cotton Creek.
That dog was like his brother:
You´d seen one, you´d see the other.
Cut one an´ both of them would bleed.
Tires screamed, but that ol´ truck couldn´t stop.
There´s the tree that he buried him under;
He made a cross from scraps of lumber,
An´ on it carved: "God Bless ol´ Roy."
There´s a lotta man in that little boy.

There´s a house, down where he goes fishin´:
He told his Mom: "Those kids got nothin´,
"And I don´t need all these toys."
There´s a lotta man.
(There´s a lotta man. There´s a lotta man.)
In that little boy