Cross Roads

MY MOTHER

     My mother's kinder chubby—she's fat, th' fellers
        say—
     My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way!
     'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th'
        bestest pies,
     An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in
        her eyes.
     An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin'
        sad an' blue,
     An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o'
        you!"

     She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother
        does,
     But I like her gingham better 'cause it's—well, just
        'cause it's hers!
     An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands
        are sorter red,
     But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you
        inter bed....
     She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street,
     But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is
        mighty sweet!

     My mother's sorter chubby—but say, her step is
        light—
     She's never cross 'r tired—not even when it's night!
     An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is
        feelin' sore,
     When you wish you was a baby—an' not a boy no
        more—
     Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time
        o' day,
     Yes—my mother's sorter chubby—But I like her that
        a-way!