These kids are drivin' me nuts! Forty-eight of 'em in one house! Gad! Sometimes I dunno what to do. I can barely feed 'em anymore. I mean, the government's cuttin' back on the checks, an' the stores're gettin' more expensive.
(What?... Don't tell me your brother hit you. Go help your sister with the wash.)
They're all brats. I used to hit 'em, 'til one of 'em turned me in to Child Protective. I lost three that time; they're half of 'em foster kids anyhow.
(I said help your sister! I meant it. What?... No, we're not havin' bread tonight; you know we can't afford it. No, no meat in the soup, neither.)
That's all those brats think about: gimme, gimme, gimme! I just can't take it anymore. Once more, an' those kids get whipped before bed tonight.
(No! That's final!)
That does it! Those brats'll wish they hadn't got me riled! Who cares what they do; a few less kids an' I can relax a little.
Please View and Sign My Guestbook
Back to Debbie Palmer
 |
© 1998-2002 Debbie Palmer. |