1896

Words by Walter H. Ford

Music by John W. Bratton

 

A poor little maiden, with newspapers laden

Was trying her best not to cry

She counted each penny, she didn’t have many

Then called a policeman near by,

My mother’s in jail, sir, will you take this bail, sir

And tell them she didn’t do wrong.

It’s all a mistake, sir,

And her heart will break, sir,

If I am away from her long.

 

Chorus

She’s been a mother to me,

Good and true,

Kind as no other could be,

All I know,

We’ve one another, you see,

Just we two,

That’s why I love her, I do,

For she’s been a mother to me.

 

 

She isn’t my mother, but there I’ve not other

She found me one day at her door,

She did all she could, sirm to bring me up good, sir

She couldn’t do wrong I am sure,

The judge heard her story, her face shone with glory,

Your mother, may go, my dear child.

And as he dismissed them,

She ran up and kissed him,

Then turned to the court room and smiled.

 

Chorus