Sophia’s Fool’s-Cap
SOPHIA was a little child,
Obliging, good, and very mild,
Yet lest of dress she should be vain,
Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain.
Her parents, sensible and kind,
Wish'd only to adorn her mind;
No other dress, when good, had she,
But useful, neat simplicity.
Though seldom, yet when she was rude,
Or ever in a naughty mood,
Her punishment was this disgrace,
A large fine cap, adorn'd with lace,
With feathers and with ribbons too;
The work was neat, the fashion new,
Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name,
She dreaded much to wear the same.
A lady, fashionably gay,
Did to mamma a visit pay:
Sophia stared, then whisp'ring said,
'Why, dear mamma, look at her head!
To be so tall and wicked too,
The strangest thing I ever knew:
What naughty tricks, pray, has she done,
That they have put that fool's-cap on? '
poem by Ann Taylor
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Little Girls Must Not Fret
WHAT is it that makes little Emily cry?
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There–lay down your head on my bosom–that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.
What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.
She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there–
Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Little Girls Must Not Fret
What is it that makes little Emily cry?
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There -- lay down your head on my bosom -- that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.
What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play?
Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away;
But do not be fretful, my darling; you know
Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.
She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there
Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare:
That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before.
Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Repentance And Reconciliation
JANE.
Mamma is displeased and looks very grave,
And I own, brother, I was to blame
Just now when I told her I wanted to have,
Like Miss Lydia, a very fine name.
'Twas foolish, for, Robert, Jane sounds very well,
When mamma says, 'I love my good Jane.'
I've been lately so naughty, I hardly can tell
If she ever will say so again.
ROBERT.
We are each of us foolish, and each of us young,
And often in fault and to blame.
Jane, yesterday I was too free with my tongue,
I acknowledge it now to my shame.
For a speech in my good mother's hearing I made,
Which reflected upon her whole sex;
And now like you, Jenny, I am much afraid
That this might my dear mother vex.
JANE.
But yet, brother Robert, 'twas not quite so bad
As that naughty reflection of mine,
When I grumbled because Liddy Bellenger had
Dolls and dresses expensive and fine.
For then 'twas of her, her own self, I complained;
Since mamma does provide all I have.
MOTHER.
Your repentance, my children, I see is unfeigned,
You are now my good Robert, and now my good Jane;
And if you will never be naughty again,
Your fond mother will never look grave.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Sweet Life
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
I'm going to be a farmer
Blowing the fields in the morning sun
I'll have a millon horses
Take me a ride when the work is done
I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And when the day is over
Going to go to sleep in the field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Going to be a acter
Playing a part in a light of gold
Oh yes I will
I'm going to make a lot of money
Going to spend it all before I get to old
And I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And you know when the day is over now
I'm going to go to sleep in a field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Got,got, got to have a sweet life
Got to have a sweet life
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
[fade out]
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vulgar Little Lady
"But, mamma, now, " said Charlotte, "pray, don't you believe
That I'm better than Jenny, my nurse?
Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve;
Her clothes are a thousand times worse.
"I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do,
And the country folks stare at me so;
And nobody dares to control me but you
Because I'm a lady, you know.
"Then, servants are vulgar, and I am genteel;
So really, 'tis out of the way,
To think that I should not be better a deal
Than maids, and such people as they. "
"Gentility, Charlotte," her mother replied,
"Belongs to no station or place;
And there's nothing so vulgar as folly and pride,
Though dress'd in red slippers and lace.
Not all the fine things that fine ladies possess
Should teach them the poor to despise;
For 'tis in good manners, and not in good dress,
That the truest gentility lies."
poem by Ann Taylor
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Sweet Mama Blue
Written by orbison/melson.
I know a place in new orleans.
They call the castle of kings and queens.
Where an old sweet black woman sings.
And plays piano like a dream.
She puts out all her beautiful heart and soul for you.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue
One night I stayed past closing time.
Sweet mamma blue my troubled mind.
She sang the night away for me.
She made me see what I couldnt see.
That only by loving life will all your dreams come true.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
They say shes gone from misery.
But she still lives in my memory.
I still can see her smile and say
Ill bet you make it all the way.
If you will try the lord will surely see you through
.
Sweet mamma blue,
The world sure will miss you.
And when I feel blue I think of you.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Juanita
(Gram Parsons Chris Hillman)
No affection were the words that stuck on my mind
When she walked out on me for the very last time
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done to be treated this way
In a cold dirty room that's where I found myself
With a bottle of wine and some pills off the shelf
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done and I'm feeling so ashamed
Then an angel appeared she was just 17
In a dirty old town with a conscious so clean
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
She's brought back the life that I once threw away
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come And Play In The Garden
LITTLE sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather then instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Come and Play in the Garden
Little sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather then instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Mother Goddess
Short single plaited of her curly locks
Tall, simple, draped with six yards
Queenly significant, nightingale voiced
Pretty enough to be admired
Mamma is ever my first goddess.
Her veneration with high ideals
Her composure with amiable qualities
Have lasting records filling up my mind.
I'm her disciple, well tuned.
No doubt, mamma is ever my first goddess.
Home-like a choultry of many numbers
With increasing population of naughty kids
Of aunts, uncles and even grand-parents
Issued year by year without any pause! !
Challenge, caring for her own kids
Nursing others', serving the elders
Cooking for the battalion the food
In huge vessels with more heed -
Great, mamma is ever my first goddess! !
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Mamma Dont
Mamma Don't Lie,
I feel your hard years,
I hear your heart sighs.
Mamma Don't Cry,
I see those raw tears,
I know those aw eyes.
Mamma Don't Die,
I share the same fears,
I drink the same cries.
Mamma Don't Try,
I will cover our ears,
I will shower our lies.
poem by Karoliena Somura
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Finery
IN an elegant frock, trimm'd with beautiful lace,
And hair nicely curl'd, hanging over her face,
Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend,
With a large little party the evening to spend.
'Ah! how they will all be delighted, I guess,
And stare with surprise at my handsome new dress!'
Thus said the vain girl, and her little heart beat,
Impatient the happy young party to meet.
But, alas! they were all too intent on their play
To observe the fine clothes of this lady so gay,
And thus all her trouble quite lost its design;–
For they saw she was proud, but forgot she was fine.
'Twas Lucy, though only in simple white clad,
(Nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels, she had,)
Whose cheerful good-nature delighted them more
Than Fanny and all the fine garments she wore.
'Tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face,
Than to wear a fine frock with an elegant lace,
For the good-natured girl is loved best in the main,
If her dress is but decent, though ever so plain.
poem by Ann Taylor
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The Good-Natured Girls
TWO good little children, named Mary and Ann,
Both happily live, as good girls always can;
And though they are not either sullen or mute,
They seldom or never are heard to dispute.
If one wants a thing that the other would like–
Well,–what do they do? Must they quarrel and strike?
No, each is so willing to give up her own,
That such disagreements are there never known.
If one of them happens to have something nice,
Directly she offers her sister a slice;
And never, like some greedy children, would try
To eat in a corner with nobody by!
When papa or mamma has a job to be done;
These good little children immediately run;
Nor dispute whether this or the other should go,
They would be ashamed to behave themselves so!
Whatever occurs, in their work or their play,
They are willing to yield, and give up their own way:
Then now let us try their example to mind,
And always, like them, be obliging and kind.
poem by Ann Taylor
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The Good-Natured Girls
Two good little children, named Mary and Ann,
Both happily live, as good girls always can;
And though they are not either sullen or mute,
They seldom or never are heard to dispute.
If one wants a thing that the other would like
Well,what do they do? Must they quarrel and strike?
No, each is so willing to give up her own,
That such disagreements are there never known.
If one of them happens to have something nice,
Directly she offers her sister a slice;
And never, like some greedy children, would try
To eat in a corner with nobody by!
When papa or mamma has a job to be done;
These good little children immediately run;
Nor dispute whether this or the other should go,
They would be ashamed to behave themselves so!
Whatever occurs, in their work or their play,
They are willing to yield, and give up their own way:
Then now let us try their example to mind,
And always, like them, be obliging and kind.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Finery
In an elegant frock, trimm'd with beautiful lace,
And hair nicely curl'd, hanging over her face,
Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend,
With a large little party the evening to spend.
"Ah! how they will all be delighted, I guess,
And stare with surprise at my handsome new dress!"
Thus said the vain girl, and her little heart beat,
Impatient the happy young party to meet.
But, alas! they were all too intent on their play
To observe the fine clothes of this lady so gay,
And thus all her trouble quite lost its design;
For they saw she was proud, but forgot she was fine.
'Twas Lucy, though only in simple white clad,
(Nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels, she had,)
Whose cheerful good-nature delighted them more
Than Fanny and all the fine garments she wore.
'Tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face,
Than to wear a fine frock with an elegant lace,
For the good-natured girl is loved best in the main,
If her dress is but decent, though ever so plain.
poem by Jane Taylor
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The doll's wooing
The little French doll was a dear little doll
Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses;
Her eyes were of hue
A most delicate blue
And dark as the night were her tresses;
Her dear little mouth was fluted and red,
And this little French doll was so very well bred
That whenever accosted her little mouth said
"Mamma! mamma!"
The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg,
Had once been a handsome young fellow;
But now he appeared
Rather frowzy and bleared
In his torn regimentals of yellow;
Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay
In the little toy cart near the window one day
And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say:
"Mamma! mamma!"
He listened so long and he listened so hard
That anon he grew ever so tender,
For it's everywhere known
That the feminine tone
Gets away with all masculine gender!
He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest
But all she'd reply to the love he professed
Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed):
"Mamma! mamma!"
Her mother - a sweet little lady of five -
Vouchsafed her parental protection,
And although stockinet
Wasn't blue-blooded, yet
She really could make no objection!
So soldier and dolly were wedded one day,
And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way,
I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say:
"Mamma! mamma!"
poem by Eugene Field
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The Wooden Doll And The Wax Doll
THERE were two friends, a very charming pair,
Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine the fair;
And she to love Brunette did constantly incline,
Nor less did Brunette love sweet Blanchidine.
Brunette in dress was neat, yet always plain;
But Blanchidine of finery was vain.
Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made–
A little girl most sumptuously array'd,
In plumes and ribbons, gaudy to behold,
And India frock, with spots of shining gold.
Said Blanchidine, 'A girl so richly dress'd,
Should surely be by every one caress'd.
To play with me, if she will condescend,
Henceforth 'tis she alone shall be my friend. '
And so for this new friend in silks adorn'd,
Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorn'd.
Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys,
A wooden doll her every thought employs,
Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red–
She kiss'd, she fondled, and she took to bed.
Mamma now brought her home a doll of wax,
Its hair in ringlets white, and soft as flax;
Its eyes could open and its eyes could shut;
And on it, too, with taste its clothes were put.
'My dear wax doll!' sweet Blanchidine would cry–
Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by.
One summer's day, 'twas in the month of June,
The sun blazed out all in the heat of noon:
'My waxen doll,' she cried, 'my dear, my charmer!
What, are you cold? but you shall soon be warmer.'
She laid it in the sun–misfortune dire!
The wax ran down as if before the fire!
Each beauteous feature quickly disappear'd,
And melting, left a blank all soil'd and smear'd.
Her doll disfigured, she beheld amazed,
And thus express'd her sorrow as she gazed:
'Is it for you my heart I have estranged
From that I fondly loved, which has not changed?
Just so may change my new acquaintance fine,
For whom I left Brunette, that friend of mine.
No more by outside show will I be lured;
Of such capricious whims I think I'm cured:
To plain old friends my heart shall still be true,
Nor change for every face because 'tis new. '
Her slighted wooden doll resumed its charms,
And wronged Brunette she clasp'd within her arms.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Turn Blue
See a black Eldorado
Oh, rolling along down below my window
That black girl in the back looks pretty good
Christ! She's beautiful
You know how soft she is
Just what you feel like
Oh, I'm so far away from her
Jesus this is Iggy
You, you might as well come with me,
When you ride the ride
There's talk and I don't wanna talk
Oh mamma, I shot myself down [x4]
They're stepping on our hearts
Stepping on our hearts
I don't know why they're stepping on our hearts
Damn, I don't know why
Stepping on our hearts [x5]
Can't you see, oh no, Stepping on our hearts
How come the blacks, how come they copy you so good?
They get off on you, so ?
If you wanna make it
Young man you gotta make somebody come
Come out of your black [x2] and strong
Black! Strong! Black!
Jesus it's cold in this room, it's really cold
You know I never told you about this, but there's one guy
Somebody I really love, he's never around
Well he was taking things that could be alright, that could be nice
And make him ugly, so damn ugly
And we put out the lights on them
Yeah, we'd make it dark, we put out the lights....on them
It's idiots like you that screw me up
I know there's nothing to you
And I don't know why I treat you so kind
Come down and dance with me, dance with me
You got nobody left but me
Oh accept me, don't reject me, don't forget me
Mamma, what colour will the lights be? Will they turn blue on me? [x2]
Mamma, I shot myself up, woh mamma, I shot myself up, up, up, mamma
Up down, up down mamma
Oh oh oh oh oh mamma
I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't mean to, but I did it, I shot myse
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye's (The Saddest Word)
Mamma
You gave life to me
Turned a baby into a lady
Mamma
All you had to offer
Was the promise of a lifetime of love
Now I know
There is no other
Love like a mother's love for her child
And I know
A love so complete
Someday must leave
Must say goodbye
Goodbye's the saddest word I'll ever hear
Goodbye's the last time I will hold you near
Someday you'll say that word and I will cry
It'll break my heart to hear you say goodbye
Mamma
You gave love to me
Turned a young one into a woman
Mamma
All I ever needed
Was a guarantee of you loving me
'Cause I know
There is no other
Love like a mother's love for her child
And it hurts so
That something so strong
Someday will be gone
song performed by by Celine Dion from New Day Has Come
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whats It Take
(robert palmer)
Youre lonely can I see you
I hire a private red-eye rocket
But when I walk in here
You wanna go through all my pockets
Whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
Ive known you all these years
And still you overhaul my letters
They dont confirm your fears
But when Im dead youll know me better
Whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
My mistake was thinking I had it covered
I havent made the first move
Whats it take to get it through to you mamma?
What does it take to love you?
I take you out to dinner
You ask me why Im acting guilty
I thought Id backed a winner
This love affair is gonna kill me
Whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
You say youre only teasing
I wanna try a new position
You wanna know the reason
Ive got a spanish inquisition
Whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
My mistake was thinking I had it covered
I havent made the first move
Whats it take to get it through to you mamma?
What does it take to love you?
I wanna hear the gossip
You say I like a real ambition
I ask you if youve got it
You document my inhibitions
Whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
Mamma whats it take?
Whats it take?
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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