A Cautionary Song

There's a place your mother goes
 When everybody else is soundly sleeping
 Through the lights of Beacon Street
 And if you listen, you can hear her weeping
 She's weeping
 'Cause the gentlemen are calling
 And the snow is softly falling on her petticoat
 And she's standing in the harbor
 And she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat
 See how they approach
 With dirty hands and trousers torn
 They grapple 'till 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 sailors' sorry racket falls for maidenhead
 And she's scarce above the gunwales
 When her clothes fall to a bundle and she's laid in bed
 On the upper deck
 And so she goes from ship to ship
 Her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
 'Till 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 harbor where she goes to bed
 And this is how you're fed
 So be kind to your mother
 Though she may seem an awful bother
 And the next time she tries to feed you collard greens
 Remember what she does when you're asleep