My dad sometimes some little trip Takes me along -- and, my, it's fun! He puts my (you know) in his grip, A suit (not this, my Sunday one), And other things that Mother, too, Says I will need. (I never do.) I'd always rather go with dad Than go with her. (Oh, goodness me, Of course I love her, course I'm glad That she's my mother -- as can be.) But when my mother lets me go With dad! -- well, lots of things, you know. For instance, Father doesn't scrub Me night and day and all the time. My mother keeps me in a tub And says it really is a crime How dirty children (me she means) Can get, no matter how one cleans. But Father, huh, he doesn't care, Ask "How's your neck?" or "How's your ears?" Or worry what you have to wear, Or if a button disappears, Dad doesn't watch you day and night And say you simply are a fright. Then we get home. "Just see that child," My mother says, "as black as ink! I knew you'd leave him running wild. My goodness, what will people think! You'll never take -- my, my, these men! -- That boy, with my consent, again." |