I'LL TELL MY MA ON YOU.
Copyright, 1895. by Anita Owen.
Words by May M. Terwillegar. Music by Anita Owen.
A little girl was playing house, a roguish lad of ten,
As she would sweep the crumbs away, he'd toss them back again.
He snatched the dimpled blue-eyed doll, and boxed it's pretty ears,
Poor mamma soothed her wounded child, and sobbed amid her tears:
I'll tell my ma on you (mean thing) if you don't let me be,
You're always hanging 'round when I am playing tea;
You often take my part, And bring me sweetmeats too,
But if you can't behave yourself, I'll tell my ma on you.
And sometimes on their way to school, the naughty lad would meet
One whom in sport he seemed to think just ev'ry bit as sweet,
Soon yearning for his little love, to make up he would try.
But with disdainful, cherry lips, the jealous lass would cry.-Refrain.
But childish fends are quite forgot when they have older grown,
And oft he'll vow that on this earth, he loves but her alone;
At last, in answer to his plea, she named the happy day.
Then raised her merry, laughing eyes, And mockingly did say.-Refrain.