YOU don't weigh more than thirty pounds,
Your legs are little, plump and fat,
And yet you patter on your rounds
The whole day long within our flat.
Little girlie, kneeling there,
Speaking low your evening prayer,
In your cunning little nightie
When I wanted something I couldn't buy,
A suit of clothes or a Sunday tie,
Or a new straw hat when the sun was high,
I used to feel sore about it.
Taking medicine today isn't what it used to be. Castor oil is castor oil, but they've banished senna tea, And they've sugar coated now all the bitter things we took, Mother used to brew for us from the family doctor book. Now I tell that boy of mine when he starts to make a fuss, He is lucky not to be taking what they gave to us.
I'D LIKE to be a bank clerk, and sit inside a cage,
I'd like to take and hoard away the toiler's weekly wage;
I 'd like to sit behind a drawer with gold and greenbacks lined,
I sink my piers to the solid rock,
And I send my steel to the sky,
And I pile up the granite, block by block
Full twenty stories high;
Nor wind nor weather shall wash away
The thing that I've builded, day by day.
I CAN stand for the man with the cute little bow
On the back of his green colored hat,
For there are a lot of good fellows I know
Who somehow have fallen for that.
They've hung their stockings up with care,
And I am in my old arm chair,
And mother's busy dragging out
The parcels hidden all about.
First thing in the morning, last I hear at night,
Get it when I come from school: 'My, you look a sight!
Go upstairs this minute, an' roll your sleeves up high
An' give your hands a scrubbing and wipe 'em till they're dry!