There's a place your mother goes 
When everybody else is soundly sleeping
Through the lights of Beacon Street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping 
She's weeping because the gentlemen are calling 
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats 
And she's standing in the harbor 
And she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat
See how they approach?

With dirty hands and trousers torn 
They grapple until she's safe within their keeping
gag is placed between her lips 
To keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
And they row her out to packets 
Where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
And she's scarce above the gunwales 
When her clothes fall to a bundle 
And she's laid in bed on the upper deck

And so she goes from ship to ship
Her ankles clasped, her arms [bad word] pinioned
Until at last she's satisfied
The lot of the marina's teaming minions 
And their opinions
And they tell her not to say a thing 
To cousin, kindred, kith, or kin, or she'll end up dead
And they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the harbor
Where she goes to bed, and this is how you're fed

So be kind to your mother
Though she may seem an awful bother
And the next time she tries to feed you collard greens
Remember what she does when you're asleep