When Mom goes to work, she wears boots on her feet,
‘Cause a soldier must always appear clean and neat.
When I go to school, I wear high-tops all day.
My kid feet need tennies to run fast and play.
Mom gets up at five to report for PT.
I exercise later at school in PE.
In her boots Mom’s a soldier. She drives a humvee,
At home she does housework, and bakes cookies for me.
I help in the kitchen. I take out the trash.
When our chores are all done we watch T.V. and crash.
In her boots Mom salutes, says. “Yes Sir,” to the sarge.
At home she’s the brass. We both know who’s in charge.
At home in her slippers, her sneakers, her pumps,
My Mom’s just like all moms, she kisses my bumps,
Makes everything better, is good at first aide;
Can tell when I’m thirsty for pink lemonade.
In shiny black boots, my Mom digs out a trench,
Pitches a tents, fixes trucks with a wrench.
Mom goes to the field, target shoots at the range
Soon her unit will deploy to a land that is strange.
Then Mom has to go if she wants to or not.
She’ll wear desert boots where it’s sandy and hot.
Her black boots stay home. They’re no good in the sand.
She’ll leave me home too, to lend Grandma a hand.
I’ll polish Mom’s boots, keep them shiny and black
I’ll rub hard and wonder when she’s coming back.
Now, Moms can be soldiers or lawyers or nurses,
Moms can be rich or have lint in their purses.
Moms can wear bars or be covered with stars,
They can ride home on bikes or in big fancy cars,
But mothers all know how to take care of us.
We love them and need them; don’t like when they fuss.
We want Moms at home, but sometimes go they must.
We know they’ll come home ‘cause in mothers we trust!
I know my mom works for the Land of the Free,
But when she comes home, she’ll belong only to me.