My Mother buried,
the fags my Brother stole,
under the coal in the yard.
She worked so hard,
I didn't like to stop her
and it wasn't that she was,
afraid of a copper,
or what the neighbours might say,
or even that she'd be made to pay,
for all of the missing baccy,
she was no lackey,
to a master thief.
To the relief of my Brother,
She was just being,
our Mother.
