Born dirt poor in Hood, Oklahoma
Number eight in a clan a' nine
Daddy deserted and ran off with a waitress,
But, Mama didn't do no cryin'

Just took in washin' and worked house cleanin'
We never saw an empty plate
If ever anyone talked bad about Daddy,
She'd say it isn't right to hate..

To church on Sunday, back to school on Monday
Plain rules, we could understand
And when any got broke, we knew we'd be feelin'
The sting of Mama's Hand..

We loved our mother, good to each other,
Life was hard, and the times were lean
We just lived by the word that kept us all fam'ly
Respect is the word, I mean..

Emmet and Tom, Carolin, and Mary
Rebecca, Bradley, Sue, and me
Number nine...is countin' little Raymond
Who was only seven months past three

Small town home, in back we raised chickens
With food from a garden, canned
And we'd all pitch in, doin' daily duties
Lendin' help to Mama's Hand

The years have rambled, everybody's older
Some college, others just moved on
Still home, there's me, and Raymond and Mama
To watch that Oklahoma dawn..

In winter, Mama came down with cancer,
Doctors said, the terminal way
All rushed home and were at her side
When He called her up to Heaven that day..

I'm married now, out here in Oklahoma
Livin on the family land
When winds blow soft, I still feel her spirit
And the touch of Mama's Hand..

When winds blow soft, I still feel her spirit
And the touch of Mama's Hand..