Mommy BootCamp

6 Comments

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  • Humor

    Poem Commentary

    Sung to the tune "Miss Lucy Had A Baby", sort of, but not exactly. 4/4 time, key of G Major.

    Mommy BootCamp
    I live in Mommy BootCamp
    It really isn't fair
    She makes me clean her house all day
    While she sit's and combs her
    Hair, Hair, Hair

    I have a little doggy
    He lives right down the street
    They feed him steaks and pork and eggs
     The accomodations
     can't be 
    Beat, Beat, Beat

    Back to Mommy BootCamp
    I never am alone
    She makes me hang up all my clothes
    And I can't talk on the
    Phone, Phone, Phone

    She says to call her mother
    Not Pal or Bud or B**ch
    I would say, if you asked me
    She's a great big scary
    Witch, Witch, Witch

    When will this all be over
    I just turned twenty-four
     Mom says if I don't like it
    She will show me to the 
    Door,Door, Door.

    I guess I'll stay till Christmas
    It seems that I may gain
    A brand new broom
    To clean her room
    I know I sound
    Insane, Sane, Sane
     

    Poem Comments

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    Hampton commented on Mommy BootCamp

    12-12-2009

    A clever composition written from the perspective of a grown child who must observe the rules of the household.
    Reply to Comment

    laurilang5 commented on Mommy BootCamp

    12-12-2009

    Loved this! My adult daughter has moved home and I think I shall be heard singing this great little song you have written. I wish you patience and the ability to bite your lips. May you have more sucess than me..
    Reply to Comment

    danmartyjake1 commented on Mommy BootCamp

    12-12-2009

    No Your not insane. I think I have lived here before in this place with a step-mother not so long ago. I can remember these feelings and you have illustrated them well here, Good Write!
    Reply to Comment

    BadBadBear commented on Mommy BootCamp

    12-12-2009

    We all have to pay for our keep and board one way or the other, even bears. Fine write!
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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