Hot pots, my tator tots
Are all hot to trot
Going down as history in town
Gather round the table to eat
Grab your forks, these sisters are done
Good in one way, their mother gave them that
***** looks, can trigger a spat
But they maintain their grace, standing tall,  they hold high their crowns in high clouds
Of joy and serenity, praises to the Father
That allows his beautiful daughters to saunter this earth, with all their girth
Giving birth to woo-child, their seeds have planted
Blossoming into the women you have called them to be
Flowers, soft, but gentle, they embrace all that is pure
The sun shines on their butter-nut colored skin, glazed-golden kisses
This must be easy living
Not for them, it's hard enough they grew up rough
But as they grew, more of what not to do
Stood true
Their lives, changed forever
In a second, no more waiting for things to happen
Took charge of their own destiny,
With love in one hand and fear in the other
Grabbed  fear by the neck, to give love a chance
Wringing out the old ***** water, to give life a fresh start
They wipe their plates clean,
Their reflection is seen