Written for a woman's deep desire to win a radio show,

in which the prize was a very thorough housecleaning

                                              (Sadly, she never got through)

Tim and Andy, hear my plea

I hate to be so bold.

But things have been quite rough, and so

My house is bad, I'm told.

A single mom with two young kids:

They're growing up so fast.

I can't fix toilets; gutter's clogged.

Why dust? It doesn't last.

The walls are crying out for paint.

I really want a garden.

My tree envelops neighbors' space

I hope they grant a pardon.

Sometimes I want to weep

Because I desperately desire

A home that doesn't make me feel

Ashamed -- I'm in a mire

Of rushing, rushing all the time.

If I could just catch up

On getting things in order here

The joy, the pick-me-up

Would render me the happiest

Of any harried mom.

I'd be so grateful till the end of time --

You'd be Da Bomb!