It's strange how little boys' mothers
Can find it all out as they do!
If a fellow does anything naughty,
Or says anything that's not true.
They look at you just for a moment,
Till the heart in your bosom swells,
And then they know all about it,
That "little bird" tells.
Now, where that "little bird" comes from,
Or where that "little bird" goes,
If he's covered with beautiful plumage,
Or black as the king of the crows;
If his voice is as hoarse as the raven's,
Or clear as the ringing bell,
I know not! but this I'm sure of: —
“That little bird tells."
The moment you think a thing wicked,
The moment you do a thing bad,
Get angry, or sullen, or hateful,
Or ugly, or stupid, or mad,
Or tease a dear brother or sister,
That moment your sentence he knells;
And the whole mamma in a moment
That "little bird" tells.
