The Boarding House
				©J.D. Carroll 
				Creative Ventures Music

Mrs. Mallard ran a boarding house down by the Lake Shore Drive.
She’d reserve a place on the porch as soon as you’d arrive.
She never asked where you were going, or where you went
just as long as by Friday evening, you’d pay the rent.
The house was old and sentimental, 
gingerbread, off-white.
The third floor ceiling paint was peeling and the doors didn’t close real tight.
But there always was a fire burning and all the time heads were turning
when Natalie, Sweet Natalie, 
entered.

Mr. Mallard passed away several years ago.
He had a sickness that stole his 
quickness, but he never let anyone know.
Mrs. M. used to condemn him, he had a flask to befriend him,
and together they spent their evenings 	
	laughing.  
			Ho-Ho-Ho

Now, if you ever take a room in the house by 
the Lake Shore Drive
just a few words should be heard to help you 
survive.
There’s no smoking in the beds, six o’clock 
you’ll be fed,
and one more thing, if you’re a boarder,
you ought to not talk to her daughter..  .