When a naughty little fellow stands ashamed in front of you
And his lips begin to quiver and he’s ready to boo-hoo,
When his big round eyes are filling with the tears he cannot check,
And at last you find him sobbing with his arms around your neck,
Don’t you get a tender feeling sort of stealing over you,
Till you feel like crying with him? — Well, you bet your life I do.
When a naughty little fellow, who’s the counterpart of you,
Has been guilty of the very willful deeds you used to do,
And you’ve got him on the carpet, where you often used to stand,
And you quickly feel the pressure of a grimy little hand
That has stolen rather slyly into yours and thrilled you through,
Don’t you overlook his conduct? — Well, you bet your life I do.
When a naughty little fellow that has disobeyed his Ma
Has at last been brought to judgment in the presence of his Pa,
Who has heard that dreadful story of that very dreadful day,
And you know that he is worried over what you’ll do or say,
And against your cheek you notice there’s a cheek that’s damp and hot,
Are you stern enough to whip him? — Well, you bet your life I’m not.
