Mother's Job

I'm just the man to make things right,

To mend a sleigh or make a kite,

Or wrestle on the floor and play

Those rough and tumble games, but say!

Just let him get an ache or pain,

And start to whimper and complain,

And from my side he'll quickly flee

To clamber on his mother's knee.

I'm good enough to be his horse

And race with him along the course.

I'm just the friend he wants each time

There is a tree he'd like to climb,

And I'm the pal he's eager for

When we approach a candy store;

But for his mother straight he makes

Whene'er his little stomach aches.

He likes, when he is feeling well,

The kind of stories that I tell,

And I'm his comrade and his chum

And I must march behind his drum.

To me through thick and thin he'll stick,

Unless he happens to be sick.

In which event, with me he's through —

Only his mother then will do.