This
poem is written in the form of a stave, but I think it also qualifies
as a ballad. I wrote it a long time ago, with my friend Rich in mind (he
was always big on mother jokes).
This
poem is written in the form of a stave, but I think it also qualifies
as a ballad. I wrote it a long time ago, with my friend Rich in mind (he
was always big on mother jokes).
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
She works all night, and sleeps through the day,
But she keeps kind thoughts locked up in her head
And many a homeless stranger's had a spot in her bed.
It's written in the men's room (but in a nice way);
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
She doesn't act old, though her hair's turned to grey.
And she hasn't got married, since your poor daddy died
(Though over the years, she's certainly tried).
I'm new in town, but I'll be over today-
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
She looks like December, but acts like it's May.
And she's won respect from all in the town
(Except the old ladies, who tend to frown).
But "Mom" doesn't care, she stays happy and gay.
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.
If you're short on money, she won't make you pay!
They say she's quite witty, "An amazing mouth,
"And when it gets cold, she'll take you down south."
I was just passing through, but I think I'll stay-
Your mother's quite a woman, that's what they say.