MOTHER is a noble matron
Of all industry, the patron—
Yes, she's toiling like a mule,
Keeping up her golden rule.

Mother is a darling hen,
Sheltering poor helpless men.
What's the use of toiling, clerking?
Mother, dear, is always working.

Father is so comical,
Mother's economical,
          Rising every morning early
It is very hard upon her.
          Cooking breakfast makes her surly.
All the same she feels her honour
Is at stake, no lagging, shirking,
Hallelujah! Mother's working.

Mother is the dear old stay-by,
          Working on the farm, oh, gracious!
How she weeds the garden day by
          Day, while Senor Hans Ignatius
Smokes the pipe of peace securely,
Lying at full length demurely,
          Never scowling, ever smirking.
          All is well while mother's working.

Hans Ignatius is the father
          Of the family, we love him
Honour him, protect and bar th'
          Cares and troubles that might shove him
To the wall or make him hurry,
Scurry for a job, all worry.
          'Tis a plain fact, without jesting,
          Father needs a heap of resting.

When I scrub the curly spaniel
Mother screeches, "Don't wash Daniel!"
When we play the game Queen Dido
With the frisky poodle, Fido,
Mother, dear, has naught to say,
Mother, dear, is far away,
Toiling at the plough, no shirking.
Hallelujah! Mother's working.

"Father, let my word prevail,
Open up the keg of ale.
          Dearest father, please don't worry,
Let thy life be free from care.
          Never hurry, skip nor scurry,
Ever restful—spare, oh spare—
Spare thyself, keep smiling, smirking—
Courage, father, mother's working."

Thou, my soul, with horror sickens,
          Pondering on yester eve.
Father thought he'd pick the chickens,
          Oh, be still my heart, don't grieve!
Feel my pulse, oh, how it quickens!
          Calm thyself, my soul, don't weave
          Tendrils through my gall. Deceive
Not thyself with yellow pickens,
Clear away all jagged jerking,
Hallelujah! mother's working.

Dearest father broke his wen
Feathering the guinea hen,
It is sad that he should thus
Tire out himself and muss
Up his pleated shirt—but, then,
Think of it—he broke his wen.

Wrapping up my father's chin
Now, I tune my mandolin,
          Thus, fulfilling my big mission,
          Like a mystic electrician.

Sweetest waves of music fill
Father's ears—oh, how they thrill!
          Much improving his condition.
Trying to make father happy
          Is my principal ambition.
Dad is dropsical, so sappy.
          Years ago I gave up clerking
          What's the use when mother's working?

Seek the oracle from Delphy
Rake the cobwebs from thy belfry,
          Don't be worried, dearest father,
What's the use of vainly wishing,
          That is foolish, better, rather,
Come along, I'm going fishing.
          Get a hook and line, no shirking,
          Let's be merry—mother's working.

Thus we ever live contented,
          Mother dominates us all.
Our lives run smooth, undented,
          Free from care, naught can befall
Such a family, containing
Every virtue. Truth is reigning
          All supremacy, no shirking
          Our duty, mother's working.

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