1

I am a little Christian, I go to Sunday School,
I always learn my lessons, I never break a rule.
I dearly love the Teacher, he knows that he can trust
His angel child. The Preacher—he comes from upper crust.
He sees I am a good boy, invites me to his home,
I play the tunes of Wesley upon the fine-tooth comb.
The Teacher and the Preacher both love their Willie, dear
Although my near relations decidedly are queer.
My brother and my sister go hand in hand in crime.
My mother hits the pipe, father is doing time.

2

I am a little Tell-tale, most popular with all
The teachers and the preachers. Since Adam took a fall,
We have to have the Tell-tales, therefore, I'm doing well.
To gain the teacher's confidence, I run along and tell
The naughty things the children do. The teacher says I'm cute,
And yet my playmates all declare I'm such a nasty brute.
They all can smell the Tell-tale, it isn't hard to guess,
They say they'll roll me in the mud, soiling my pretty dress.
They seem to think I am a skunk ; at least, they say I am,
Christening me another name, they call me "Dirty Sam."

3

My eyes are blue, my golden hair is flowing down my back,
I still wear dresses, mother loves to pet her baby Jack
My mother is particular to have me often scrub.
The housemaid, Susan, used to wash me in a cedar tub.
But now that I am twelve years old, I always wash myself.
I keep the soap and towel upon mother's gilded shelf.
The Doctor says that I must use an antiseptic soap,
Because I am all pimples. Look, there is mother's dope!
Inside the old accordion. I'm glad she has that streak,
I surely will blackmail her for a dollar bill per week.

4

My father is a burglar bold, they caught him yestereve,
He'd broken in a bank downtown, my mother does not grieve,
She says it serves the old man right and she will let him rot
Before she helps him to escape, she is a rotten lot.
I'd like to rap her on the nut, 'twould make the people talk,
But, being such an angel child, I really have to balk.
I've kept the ten commandments since I came of age at seven,
I am a little Christian and I hope to go to Heaven.

5

My sister dear and brother queer are Kleptomaniacs,
Last night they brought a willow basket home, 'twas full of quacks.
Uncovering the basket—what is this?—a brace of geese!
"We'll never fight for drumsticks—see, we have one leg apiece!"
With tears now coursing down my face, I drew the bowie knife.
One gash—the heads fly off—out comes the bloody stream of life.
There is a knock upon the door—dear me, what can it mean?
Two officers, policemen, stern, well satisfied, serene.
They handcuff both my sister and my brother, thus you see
It always pays to be an honest, angel child, like me.
I've kept the ten commandments since I came of age at seven,
I am a little Christian and I hope to go to Heaven.

6

There's no one living now at home but mother dear and me,
I am her little baby boy, we always disagree,
I hear an awful thud upstairs, what can the matter be?
I hurry up the stairs—oh, Hell!—imagine what I see.
My mother dear is in a fit, she's foaming at the mouth,
One of her hands is pointing north, the other pointing south.
Her head is east, her legs are west and, clinching with her teeth,
She bites her heart—she spit it up. She's lying there beneath
Her Angel child. She smiles in death, oh, mother, now demure!
You must resign all hope of bliss, of that I'm very sure.
As for myself, I've been an angel since the age of seven.
I am a little Christian and I hope to go to Heaven.

7

My mother is cremated. I, returning home alone,
Now feeling hungry, thought I'd pick the gander's funny bone.
What is the use of ever grieving? really, what's the use?
I ate a slice, 'twas very nice, that confiscated goose.
And then I sought the preacher in the ivy-mantled church.
And afterwards the teacher, they'll not leave me in the lurch.
They cannot get along without their Angel baby blue.
I tell them all the naughty things the other children do.
I'm good as any peach yes, ever since the age of seven,
I've been a little Christian and I hope to go to Heaven.

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