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