The Roots Of My Raising

The roots of our raising,

they run so ever deep.

With remembrances I'll treasure,

memories forever to keep.

We wasn't said to be rich,

daddy worked until tattered.

Not getting all our wants,

but always what mattered.

We had no fancy clothes,

mama's hands made our meals.

She was always at home,

not out chasing any thrills.

Mom and dad had a standard,

they would not compromise.

If judged by thier raising,

they would take the first prize.

Mom and dad have gone home,

now in heaven they're praisin.

Telling Jesus to just look down,

at the roots of our raising...