Complicated Type (Trent Michael)

He was a sweet, boy Never mean to cause no trouble Couldn't help but be polite He probly learned it from his mother He's a complicated type A complicated type Complicated type Grew up real fast Just like Carolina He hid his drugs under his bible Mixed his whisky with his wine He had a sparkle in his eye Like just before you cry Like right before you cry Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa It was a long night He'd been sittin at the bar When they turned off all the lights He started lookin for his car But when his eyes began to gleam And the lights started to stream Well he slipped into a dream Well now while most Folks dream of money, love, and hope His were of violent, crashing waves And bodies swinging, tied to ropes While his whole family laughed aloud Hovering above a crowd Who, for hell, was screamin out Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa Well of nobody, there's nothing I can do To bring anyone back to life But I know that I should try to tell the truth And to fight for the right side When he came to As if he'd been dead for years And the wind was blowin hard Both his eyes were full of tears But a change had taken place You could see it on his face Man you could see it on his face And on the way home He found a bottle in the road And thought of all the explanations That he felt that he was owed And as he kicked it down the street He felt lighter on his feet And he couldn't help but sing Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa