It Doesn’t Mean a Thing

Well I never knew my mother, but I can't say it was so bad
She was still a girl of seventeen the night she met my dad
He was just six months out of Chino, trying his hardest to stay clean
And they'd sing, and they'd sing, and they'd sing
Like doves sleeping with broken wings
In a bed fit for a king
"It didn't mean a thing"

It was a shotgun-forced wedding, but they forgot to bring the guns
They were too busy counting promises to the children not yet born
No one could afford the ride, they just hitched up the 101
But they'd sing, and they'd sing, and they'd sing
Like doves dancing with broken wings
With a view fit for a king
"It didn't mean a thing"

There was a loneliness they would confess
Like the world had gone bad, I guess
So they'd hold hands looking into the eyes of god
And they'd say, "Tell me why you'd hide from us?
Why you'd fill the world with wickedness?
Why'd you spare us from your grace, but not the rod?"

Now my dad says, "Fuck the details, just keep your head down hard
You got to find yourself alone before you'll find the eyes of God
You may be broke and scared and mad and tear at the flesh of your heart-strings
But you were born to be a peasant not a king
So just stop acting like you're running from something
You're gonna leave the way you came without a thing
With your heart tied to your mind tied to a string
You just sing and you sing and you sing:
'It doesn't mean a thing...'"