‘Wait till your Pa comes home!’ Oh, dear!
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.
Yet never a boy of three or four
But has heard it a thousand times or more.
‘Wait till your Pa comes home, my lad,
And see what you’ll get for being bad,
‘Wait till your Pa comes home, you scamp!
You’ve soiled the walls with your fingers damp,
You’ve tracked the floor with your muddy feet
And fought with the boy across the street;
You’ve torn your clothes and you look a sight!
But wait till your Pa comes home to-night.’
Now since I’m the Pa of that daily threat
Which paints me as black as a thing of jet
I rise in protest right here to say
I won’t be used in so fierce a way;
No child of mine in the evening gloam
Shall be afraid of my coming home.
I want him waiting for me at night
With eyes that glisten with real delight;
When it’s right that punished my boy should be
I don’t want the job postponed for me;
I want to come home to a round of joy
And not to frighten a little boy.
‘Wait till your Pa comes home!’ Oh, dear,
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.
Yet that is ever his Mother’s way
Of saving herself from a bitter day;
And well she knows in the evening gloam
He won’t be hurt when his Pa comes home.
