IX.
ONCE, when her instrument was workin’ badShe jerked the thing and hit it with her fistAnd nearly broke her round, soft little wrist—I never s’posed that she could get so mad.When I told ma it seemed to make her glad.She says a girl that looks as nice as pieSometimes has awful thoughts: I wonder whyMa’s always knockin’ so? It makes me sad.
ONCE, when her instrument was workin’ badShe jerked the thing and hit it with her fistAnd nearly broke her round, soft little wrist—I never s’posed that she could get so mad.When I told ma it seemed to make her glad.She says a girl that looks as nice as pieSometimes has awful thoughts: I wonder whyMa’s always knockin’ so? It makes me sad.
ONCE, when her instrument was workin’ badShe jerked the thing and hit it with her fistAnd nearly broke her round, soft little wrist—I never s’posed that she could get so mad.When I told ma it seemed to make her glad.She says a girl that looks as nice as pieSometimes has awful thoughts: I wonder whyMa’s always knockin’ so? It makes me sad.
ONCE, when her instrument was workin’ bad
She jerked the thing and hit it with her fist
And nearly broke her round, soft little wrist—
I never s’posed that she could get so mad.
When I told ma it seemed to make her glad.
She says a girl that looks as nice as pie
Sometimes has awful thoughts: I wonder why
Ma’s always knockin’ so? It makes me sad.