Mom was cooking bread
She wore a dirty raggety scarf around her head
Always had her stockings low
Rolled to her feet, she just didn't know
She wore a sloppy dress
Oh no matter how she tried, she always looked a mess
Out of the pot she ate, never used a fork or a dinner plate
I was always so ashamed for my uptown friends to see her
Afraid one day when I was grown that I would be her

In a college town, away from home, a new identity I found
Said I was born elite, with maids and servants at my feet
I must have been insane
I lied and said my mom died on a weekend trip to Spain
She never got out of the house, never even boarded a train
I married a guy, was livin' high
I didn't want him to know her
She had a grandson, two years old
I never even showed her

I'm livin' in shame, Momma, I miss you
I know you are not to blame, Momma, I miss you

Came the telegram
Mom passed away while making homemade jam
Before she died, she cried to see me by her side
She always did her best, ah! cookin', cleanin'
Always in the same old dress
Workin' hard down on her knees
Always try'n to please
Momma! Momma! Momma, do you hear me
Momma! Momma! Momma, do you hear me

I'm livin' in shame, Momma, I miss you
I know you've done your best
Momma, I miss you
Won't you forgive me Momma
For all the wrong I've done
I know you have done your best
I know you have done your very best you could
But I never understood
Workin' hard on your knees
Momma, you were always, always tryin' to please

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): BERRY GORDY JR, BERRY JR GORDY, FRANK EDWARD WILSON, HENRY COSBY, PAMELA JOAN SAWYER, R. DEAN TAYLOR