You lied to me-today and the last,
About all that shit being in the past.

I knew you smoked when you were young,
But I found out today-you're long from done.

I figured you had quit years before,
Until I found a pack in your dresser drawer.

To get me out of the house you'd complain you were sick,
I won't fall for that again-now that I know your trick.

Not telling is still lying,
And Mom, lets face it, we're both sick of the crying.

So turn off the water works and tell me straight out,
Because, otherwise, I'm going to shout!

Days go by as I find more packs,
I take one. But ten minutes later, I put it back.

I guess I'll never know why unless I ask,
But for now it's hard enough to hide under my own mask.

The more I think about this gigantic lie,
The harder it is not to be shy.

Weeks ago-friends played around about you smoking,
Little did I know-they weren't joking.

I was hoping I could take one step in your shoe,
Then maybe one day I could tell you, Mom, that I smoke to.
 
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