Why, Mom, are you so near the bottom?
Why mingle with riff-raff like these?
The loos they are filthy, the beer it is worse --
Do you like the pretzels and cheese?

Why, Mom, are you so near the bottom?
Could it be that nobody cares?
You could get mugged right here at the bar --
Come home with me now back upstairs.

Why, Mom, are you so near the bottom?
Amos has searched through the night!
You know that we miss you and love you --
My goodness! Your hair is a fright.

Why, Mom, are you so near the bottom?
We'll fix a good dinner at home!
There's naught but the dregs of society here --
They'd put you 'neath six feet of loam.

Come, Mom, arise to your bower,
And promise you'll never more roam.
Yes, take the beer with you, dear Mater --
Even though it's nearly all foam.

       --Carson Mayhew Wingate IV, Songs of Innocence
          (San Diego de la Verga: Prensa de Polo, 1752)