You know what to do when the kids out grow ‘em,

You’re sad, but your glad that you don’t have to sew them again;

That’s how it goes.

You sort and you fold them Saturday morn,

And they go out for sale on the green front lawn,

I s’pose.

But when momma lets go and the house is quiet,

The hell! with sleep and The hell! with the diet,

You’re broke up inside and your nose is a riot,

You ache in your fingers and you ache down to your toes.

And you’ve waited for this through a very long week,

And you hold up her clothes just to brush your cheek,

But you’re too broke inside to even speak.

And what to do with a Little Old Lady’s Clothes?

Now you know just exactly what you oughta

Do with the clothes from Dad, Son and Daughter.

No one in their right mind thinks about tossing those!

You get on the phone and the truck comes to pick them,

They sort and they clean and they just about lick ‘em,

And someone in the city gets another fresh set of clothes.

The shabby old men will wear out the trousers;

The kids off the street will flaunt the blouses;

And lads in the warehouse with steel-capped toes

Are glad for the shirts and the jeans and those.

But momma's old slips and her favorite slippers?

The Florida shorts when you were day-trippers?

What to do with a Little Old Lady’s Clothes?

For little old ladies have far too many;

The shelters and the banks say they don’t want any;

And as rags they’re not even worth a penny,

We knows!

So you smell once more of her favorite scent,

And you wonder where of all the time it went,

And you rinse them again with tears well-spent,

Waiting for the time when the empty feeling goes.

And you ask, “Dear Lord” if you can let go,

And you ask “Dear Lord”, ‘cause you want to know –

What to do with a Little Old Lady’s Clothes?