Madam and the Charity Child

Once I adopted
A little girl child.
She grew up and got ruint,
Nearly drove me wild.

Then I adopted
A little boy.
He used a switch-blade
For a toy.

What makes these charity
Children so bad?
Ain’t had no luck
With none I had.

Poor little things,
Born behind the 8-rock,
With parents that don’t even
Stop to take stock.

Blind
The county won’t pay me
But a few bucks a week.
Can’t raise no child on that,
So to speak.

And the lady from the
Juvenile Court
Always coming around
Wanting a report.

Last time I told her,
Report, my eye!
Things is bad—
You figure out why!