It takes a heap of living,
To make a thread a home,
And Mom's place ain't no different,
No matter where ya roam.

Ya want to come back to a place
As you recall it best,
When travels make you weary
An' ya need a place to rest.

A house the like of Mom's, you know
Is a kind of special place
Where folks are glad to see ya
When you show your purdy face.

But if you want a home like that
When your wandering makes you weary
Ya got to keep in mind one thing,
A homely little theory.

Don't take no craps on the parlor floor
Don't pee in Mother's soup
Don't leave your empty beer cans piled
On Mother's spotless stoop.

Just keep it as you'd find it,
Or at least, jes' do yer best,
And never spout McGonagle
Or crap from Edgar Guest.

The air of Mom's is bright and clean
And full of wit, an' smart
And when you haul out shitty verse
It breaks your Mother's heart!

So please, forsake that Julia Moore
And Walkabout puerile
Don't bring in them pathetic poems
So deadened, wan and sterile.

For if you do, your Mom will know
(A Mom can always tell!)
And she'll ban you from her door, my friend
And ship you back to hell!!