I'm gonna die if she don't learn how to cook.
Or I'm gonna run away.

(Stop!) (Or you can never eat home anymore.)

Spoken, with backup vocalizing in background:
Listen, does this sound familiar?
You wake up every morning,
With a hunger pain inside.
Your mother makes you breakfast,
But you wanna run and hide.
You sneak out of the back door,
And hang around on the street.
You know it's time for dinner,
But you're afraid ta go home and eat.
And that's called (hungry).

Now my mom was a good mom,
To me, she was a queen,
But I couldn't eat her cooking,
It turned me sort of green.
I used to get so hungry.
How hungry could I get?
And then one day -- a miracle.
A luncheonette!
And that's called (food.)

(He can never eat home anymore.)

Well, my mom found out about it,
And I knew it hurt her so.
She came to me and pleaded,
An' begged me not to go.
But I knew I had to do it,
Though she'd never understand.
And I left her cryin' in the kitchen,
With a chicken in her hand.
I can still hear her...

(I make you meat both nice and hot,)
(I make you chicken in the pot.)

Instrumental break.

(Never eat home anymore.)
(Why me?)

So she stayed there in that kitchen,
And it was always the same.
Each night she'd make those meatballs,
But I never came.
My mama grew so lonely,
That the angels heard her cry.
And they took her up to heaven,
To that lunchroom in the sky.
And that's called (sad).

(And he can never eat home anymore.)