The Good Little Boy Edgar Guest Once there was a boy who never Tore his clothes, or hardly ever, Never made his sister mad, Never whipped fer bein' bad, Never scolded by his Ma, Never frowned at by his Pa, Always fit fer folks to see, Always good as good could be. This good little boy from Heaven, So I'm told, was only seven, Yet he never shed real tears When his mother scrubbed his ears, An' at times when he was dressed Fer a party, in his best, He was careful of his shirt Not to get it smeared with dirt. Used to study late at night, Learnin' how to read an' write; When he played a baseball game, Right away he always came When his mother called him in. An' he never made a din But was quiet as a mouse when they'd comp'ny in the house. Liked to wash his hands an' face, Liked to work around the place; Never, when he'd tired of play, Left his wagon in the way, Or his bat an' ball around-- Put 'em where they could be found; An' that good boy married Ma, An' to-day he is my Pa.