Mom was cooking bread
She wore a dirty raggety scarf around her head
Always had her stockings low
Rolled to her feet, she just didn't know
She wore a sloppy dress
Oh no matter how she tried, she always looked a mess
Out of the pot she ate, never used a fork or a dinner plate
I was always so ashamed for my uptown friends to see her
Afraid one day when I was grown that I would be herIn a college town, away from home, a new identity I found
Said I was born elite, with maids and servants at my feet
I must have been insane
I lied and said my mom died on a weekend trip to Spain
She never got out of the house, never even boarded a train
I married a guy, was livin' high
I didn't want him to know her
She had a grandson, two years old
I never even showed herI'm livin' in shame, Momma, I miss you
I know you are not to blame, Momma, I miss youCame the telegram
Mom passed away while making homemade jam
Before she died, she cried to see me by her side
She always did her best, ah! cookin', cleanin'
Always in the same old dress
Workin' hard down on her knees
Always try'n to please
Momma! Momma! Momma, do you hear me
Momma! Momma! Momma, do you hear me
Songwriters
Sawyer, Pamela Joan / Wilson, Frank Edward / Gordy Jr, Berry / Cosby, Henry / Taylor, R. DeanPublished by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC