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!