[Verse 1] Mama's in the kitchen, apron tied up tight, Stirring up the supper, 'neath the fading light. Papa walks in grumbling, sniffing at the air, Says, "This stew you made, it ain't fit to share." [Chorus] Oh, Mama's had it up to here, she's tired of his demands, She grabbed that heavy skillet with her calloused hands. Papa's jaw dropped open, his pride took a blow, When Mama raised that frying pan, she let her fury show. [Verse 2] The cornbread's golden, beans are on the stove, Mama's been cooking since the rooster crowed. But Papa's got a habit of running his mouth, And tonight's the night Mama's laying it out. [Chorus] Oh, Mama's had it up to here, she's tired of his demands, She grabbed that heavy skillet with her calloused hands. Papa's jaw dropped open, his pride took a blow, When Mama raised that frying pan, she let her fury show. [Bridge] Now the neighbors heard the ruckus, plates hitting the wall, Papa hollered mercy, but she stood tall. A woman in the kitchen ain't just there to serve, She showed him respect is something you earn. [Verse 3] Next morning at the table, Papa sat polite, Quiet as a church mouse, not a word in sight. Mama sipped her coffee, smiled just a bit, Supper’s tasting better when you don’t throw a fit.
