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M is for the Mileage, she put on that old Chevrolet

Up and down the roads, at all times of day.

No air, no power steering and seat belts were a joke

But we made it to our destination, on time, we hope.

And it’s up against the wall, editor’s mother. Mother who has raised her son so well. He’s 65 and writing drivel here in Mocksville, just kickin’ it back and raisin’ hell.

O is for the Oil, from fatback in the pan

Fried to perfection, like only she can.

Working hard, trying to make ends meet

For hungry children, at the end of the street.

And it’s up against the wall, editor’s mother. Mother who has raised her son so well. He’s 65 and writing drivel here in Mocksville, just kickin’ back and raisin’ hell.

T is for the Time, she’s glad to spend with us

Even if we’re being bratty, causing quite the fuss.

And if you’re sick, you can bet she’ll be there

The first to wipe the sweat, from your soggy hair.

And it’s up against the wall, editor’s mother. Mother who has raised her son so well. He’s 65 and writing drivel here in Mocksville, just kickin’ back and raisin’ hell.

H is for the Help, it’s there no matter what

It’s in her DNA, it ain’t never gonna stop.

From diapers to college, it’s what she’s here for

A helping hand or a dollar, could you ask for more?

And it’s up against the wall, editor’s mother. Mother who has raised her son so well. He’s 65 and writing drivel here in Mocksville, just kickin’ back and raisin’ hell.

E is for the Energy, always going here and there

As long as we were with her, she didn’t have a care.

Quiet times are something, she never knew

Maybe on Sunday morning, sitting in her pew.

And it’s up against the wall, editor’s mother. Mother who has raised her son so well. He’s 65 and writing drivel here in Mocksville, just kickin’ back and raisin’ hell.

R is for the Respect, she demanded that we show

To others and ourselves, it’s what we needed to know.

It didn’t matter who they were, these people that we met

But they deserve to be treated fairly, on that you could bet.

What’s that spell? M-O-T-H-E-R.

My apologies to the great Ray Wylie Hubbard, who penned the song “Up, Against The Wall, Redneck Mother”  back in the early 70s. Above is a parody of that parody, with a few personal reflections thrown in for good measure. But trust me, Ray Wylie Hubbard’s version is better. Much better. Check it out.

It has lines like “M” is for the mud flaps, she bought him for his pickup truck, and “O” is for the oil, he puts on his hair. Good stuff.

I’ve always admired songwriters. Sure, I can put words down, but to pair those words with a melody or cadence takes real talent. I’m not sure it can be taught; the best at the craft seem to come by that ability naturally.

One thing is for sure, if my mother were still alive, she would be proud; yes, proud of me believe it or not; but also proud of my sisters and brother. We’ve all got our faults, and she would be the first to point them out to us, but she was always on our side. Always.

So on this Mother’s Day, write your mother a song.

Pick out one of your favorites, then just change the words to match your feelings and thoughts.

It will make you feel better. But like me, you still won’t be a songwriter.

– Mike Barnhardt