| Dm/a | G/d | |
| There's a place your mother goes, when everybody else is soundly | sleeping |
| Dm | |
| Through the lights of beacon street |
| G | |
| And if you listen you can hear her | weeping, |
| A | Bb | |
| She's | weeping, cause the | gentlemen are calling |
| F | |
| And the snow is softly falling on her | petticoats. |
| Bb | |
| And she's s | tanding in the harbour |
| F | |
| And she's waiting for the sailors in the | jolly boat. |
| A | |
| See how | they approach |
| With dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple 'til she's safe |
| within their keeping |
| A 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 gunales when her clothes fall to a |
| bundle and she's laid in bed on the upper deck |
| Gm | A | Gm | A | |
| Interlude- | La la la la laa, | la la la laa | , |
| And so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms |
| so rudely pinioned |
| 'Til at last she's satisfied the lot of the marina's teeming |
| minions, in 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 harbour |
| where she goes to bed, and this is how your fed |
| Gm | A | |
| So be kind to your mother, though she may | seem an awful bother, |
| Gm | A | |
| and the | next time she tries to feed you collard | greens, |
| A | Dm | |
| Remember what she does when you're asleep |