Housewives Lament

I opened up the door,

To my haven called home,

A refuge from the workplace,

But it looked like a disaster zone,

There were dishes in the sink,

And laundry on the floor,

Clutter on the counters,

And dust from door to door,

A smiling hubby greets me,

Where’s the supper hon?

Well, bring out the pistols,

Cause I ain’t making none,

I am sick of doing housework,

And I thought you ought to know,

The battle or the north and south,

Ended slavery long ago, 

There will be no more working day and night,

To keep this household clean,

I wasn’t born with a broom in my hand,

Or with knowledge of washing machines,

My love for you grows stronger,

But it doesn’t cut the grease,

You better start doing your share,

Of the chores that never cease.