Mother Would Wallop Me


H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, 54 Chatham Street, New-York.

Mother Would wallop me.

Wounded and sorrowful, in Jersey I roam,
Two miles and a half from Weehawken, my home;
Even the dogs that used sweetly to howl,
Have gone to the sassage-machine with a growl;
Nothing but Petroleum can cheer me to-day:
For a Kerosine sour I would fervently pray:
When none to console me, or kind friends are near—
Mother would wallop me, if she were here.

If she were with me, I ne’er would forget
The pain from a poker, no more would I fret;
One kiss from her eyes, or one look from her lip
Would make me go crazy on a bounty-full trip;
Gently my foot o’er my forehead she’d press,
Trying to sober me, when tight in distress;
Gently she’d say: as I’ve got you so near—
Mother will wallop you, Mother is here.

Cheerfaithly faithcheerly, Mother would stay
Always away from me, night and by day;
If I would grumble or wish to complain,
A slight touch of the broom-stick would calm me again.
Sweetly a Mother’s love shines from afar,
Darkest in brightness, like a policeman’s star;
In moonshine or sunshine, in snow or in rain,
Mother’s gymnastics are ever the same.

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