He is sixteen going on seventeen,
He got splinters from raising high the roof beams,
Living it, loving it, got to keep speaking it,
He don't feel it like we need it,
When his grubby face shows we know how the song goes.

Trouble Kid, Just look at what he did.
Something in the weather says I'm not so clever,
Why didn't I figure out that you're eyes weren't telling me what I thought they were.
Trouble Kid's not evil, He has got his reasons,
But I'm going to squash him flat, like a bug,
With my new timberlands.