Lotta Man (in That Little Boy) Lyrics - My Kind Of Livin - Craig Morgan

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. 

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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