Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth! Empty the dustpan, poison the moth, Hang out the washing and butter the bread, Sew on a button and make up a bed. Where is the mother whose house is so shocking? She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue (Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo). Dishes are waiting and bills are past due (Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo). The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo. Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue? (Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.)
Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow, But children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow. So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep. I’m rocking my baby. Babies don’t keep.
~ Ruth Hulburt Hamilton