Mon mère, if the oceans is filled with sanctimonious words
It is not meritorious to praise thy drudgeries
For thou art my highest goddess on earth
my Praise be unto God and unto thee
Thou art the only prognosticator that baptist with ornament words.
Thou sold thy fascinating robes to make thy infants get jobs
Thou cut thy flesh and squeezed thy body to give us food and drink
Thy body and robe-de-chambre become rinky-dink
B'cause of thy infant's future
Thy aim is to make thy infants a great author.
Mon Mère, thou tell us a vision
So, we can buy thee a television
tho' the artery is not palatable
but thou hast never look unto thy pal's table
Thou art fortune life producer
That is why thy Infants are great achievers.
My goddess, the only femelle god on earth
tho' people worship thee in their heart
but I will worship thee with my psyche
Thou art the safest transporter
thou transport me and accommodate me like thy pure heart.
The best beanery, where viands are perfectly served
viands that makes me flourish and balance
At the smell of thy beanery, tears of joy rain from my eye
And my mouth opened wide in pretense.
The best chamber, where cool sleep comes
the smell of my perfect chamber is like a sweet smell of perfect lamb of Israel
My head needs no pillow in my perfect chamber.
Mon Mère, so long as I live,
May I choose thee over paraphernalia
So long as I live, my success will always count on thee
Because thou hast given life to millions
long live Mon Mère
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