Our great big family

I am the first born child,
I am the first born son.
My baby things were all brand new
'cause I was number one.

Soon after came my brother
and since my stuff was new,
the tiny things that I outgrew
they put on number two.

Our little family was complete.
Both grandparents did agree.
The day that Sara Jane was born,
our darling number three.

"Three's enough", my grandma said,
"raising kids is such a chore."
Grandma should have spoke up sooner,
home they came with number four.

Every Sunday we'd all pile in
the ole' Chevy for a drive.
Four of us squeezed in the back seat,
Ma was holding number five.

On Winter nights, we begged our Dad,
"Pop, do your magic tricks".
As we gathered in the parlor,
down the hall slept number six.

It was my job, when Ma went out,
to watch my brother, Kevin.
He cried the whole time she was gone.
That BRAT was number seven.

We had to get up early,
the school bus wouldn't wait.
The noise we made while rushing
always woke up number eight.

There was always tons of laundry.
It filled the back yard line.
Shirts and socks and underwear
and diapers for number nine.

Ah! Those days I remember fondly,
recalling way back when.
I was the one and only..
instead of the first of ten.