When Mama sings a song, no one sings along.
The children are at play, Dad reads, Gramma sleeps.
It doesn't matter she hums sure and strong,
Mom spiritual is okay, and no one weeps.
The babe is snug in its cradle, not a peep.
Dinner's on the table and everyone is there.
Still Mom calls between the bars of melody's keep,
"Gather round this table while it's warm and fair."
We as a group watched Loretta Lynn sing her song
To her kids, from her little shack on a hill, while she worked.
There they were altogether, Mama and kids, nothing wrong,
She was just a Mama, not a secretary, nor a waitress, or a clerk.
Course, we "cain't" all be a star and singer like Loretta.
It don't matter though, our Mama can still carry a tune.
Baby, Daddy, Granny, Kids, all know for "bettah!"
Welding with sweet melody, home's hearth, later and soon.
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