Look at the spots on your great greasy face
Look at those huge rolls of fat
You think you deserve a nice, pretty dress?
No you don’t, not looking like that.
How dare you protest, I’m your mother!
I’ll call you whatever I choose
Hypersensitive, plain and obnoxious
Now I think I’ll go out for new shoes.
You’ll do what I tell you, my girl
You’ll endure all my cruel mocking jeers
I’ll keep you bowed down and uncertain
For at least the next twenty years.
One day you may look back in anger
One day you may cut toxic ties
But not yet, so I’ll carry on taunting
And enjoy the tears in your eyes.