Home Cooked Meals

Mommy and I have to eat home cooked meals At the restaurant Because mommy is determined to keep up this Fam’ly front. No one can know we live in misery. Though we wear Oleg Cassini and Carry a Coach purse We live in love’s poverty. I think I’m getting an ulcer. But, she eats slow And I clean my plate Don’t want to get home too early We want to waste time And get home very late We eat out almost every night To make people think everythings alright I no longer ask why she doesn’t confess And try to get us out of this mess. She just feels she’ll never be blessed And she wants to keep her designer suits And bags… She thinks she’s trapped And it’s all very sad… And I think I’m getting an ulcer…