The boy has wet himself again
And he thinks that I can’t tell
But it is very evident
From his bearing and his smell.
He doesn’t seem uncomfortable
He doesn’t seem to mind
It’s nice and warm, a little while,
After all, it’s his behind.
But pretty soon I’ll chase him down
Pretty soon I’ll scrub him clean
Pretty soon I’ll wash his bits, and
Everywhere his hands have been.
And then the boy will howl at me
And then how the boy will weep
And then the boy will gnash his teeth
As I my foul harvest reap.
Being clean means nothing to him
For naught he knows of diaper rash
Freedom is all he wants of me
So those little teeth, he gnash.
And I would let him run and play
I would leave him to his mess
I would let him have his way if
I only loved a little less.