A Cautionary Song - The Decemberists

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