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Mom was cooking bread,
she wore a dirty raggety scarf around her head.
Always had her stockings low,
rolled to her feet, she just didn´t know.
She wore a sloppy dress,

No matter how she tried, she always looked a mess.
Out of the pot she ate, never used a fork or a dinner plate.
I was always so ashamed for my uptown friends to see her,
Afraid one day when I was grown that I would be her.

In a college town, away from home, a new identity I found.
Said I was born elite, with maids and servants at my feet.
I must have been insane,
I lied and said my mom died on a weekend trip to Spain.
She never got out of the house, never even boarded a train.
I married a guy, was livin´ high,

I didn´t want him to know her,
She had a grandson, two years old,
I never even showed her.

I´m Livin´ In Shame, Momma, I miss you.
I´m Livin´ In Shame, Momma, I miss you.

Came the telegram,
mom passed away while making homemade jam.
Before she died, she cried to see me by her side.
She always did her best, Ah! cookin´, cleanin´,
always in the same old dress.
Workin´ hard down on her knees,
always try´n to please.
Momma!  Momma!  Do you hear me, Momma!
Momma!  Momma!  Do you hear me, Momma!