He didn't like my casserole
And he didn't like my cake.
He said my biscuits were too hard...
Not like his mother used to make.

I didn't perk the coffee right,
He didn't like the stew;
I did not mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.

I pondered for an answer,
I was looking for a clue.
I could never be his mother --
Could I do as she used to do?



Thought of his perfect mother
Was the operating que.
So I smacked the crap out of him...

Just like his mother used to do.