(Pam Sawyer/are. Dean Taylor/Frank Wilson/Berry Gordy/Henry Cosby)

Mom was cooking bread
She wore a dirty raggedy scarf around her head.
Always had her stockings low, rolled to her feet
She just didn't know.
She wore a sloppy dress.
Oh, 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 afraid for my uptown friends to see her.
Afraid one day when I was grown, that I would be her.

Ah, 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 momma died on a weekend trip to Spain.
She never got out of the house, never even boarded a train.

Married a guy, was living high
I didn't want him to know her.
She had a grandson, two years old
That I never even showed her.

I'm living in shame
Momma I miss you.
I know you're not to blame
Momma I miss you.

Came a telegram.
Momma passed away while making homemade jam.
Before she died, she cried to see me by her side.
She always did her best.
Ah, cooking, cleaning, always in the same old dress.
Working hard down on her knees
Always trying to please.

Momma, momma, momma can you hear me?
Momma, momma, momma can you hear me?

I'm living in shame, momma I miss you.
I know you've done you're best.
Momma I miss you.
Won't you forgive me mom
For all the wrong I've done?
I know you've done your best
Oh, I know you've done the very best you could.
That you never understood.
Working hard down on her knees…