Oh little baby, you’ll never cry,
nor will you hear a sweet lullabye.
Oh unborn child, if you only knew
just what your momma was plannin’ to do.
You’re still a-clingin’ to the tree of life,
but soon you’ll be cut off before you get ripe.
Oh unborn child, beginning to grow
inside your momma, but you’ll never know.
Oh tiny bud, that grows in the womb,
only to be crushed before you can bloom.
Mama stop! Turn around, go back, think it over.
Now stop, turn around, go back, think it over.
Stop, turn around, go back think it over.
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