I always hurry home to them when once the curtain’s down,
’Twould kill me were mamma to weep or step-dada to frown.
My servants fully understand “No followers allowed,”
And o’er my spotless domicile there rests no scandal cloud.
Chorus.—For we’re a happy familee, &c.
When interviewers visit me (I know not why they call),
I rattle in my artless way, and tell my little all;
How I work hard for mother dear, and teach my brother Jo.
And how we spend our happy hours, and where to church we go.
Chorus.—For we’re a happy familee, &c.