The Other Mothers


Other mothers scrap book and like the blues,
My mother likes crack and booze.
Growing up dirt poor and homeless,
Thats the reason now my home is hoarded.
Other mothers bake pies and quiche,
My mother lies and is a thief.
Stabbed eight times and almost died,
She got back with the guy who tried.
Unwilling to grow up,
I have to nip this in the bud,
Until she gets her life together,
We are better off not together.
Other mothers like to garden,
My mother needs a pardon.
I just want a stable mother,
Just like all the other mothers.

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