I mustn’t tell my mother yet,
When my mother talks to me,
I’m about to spill the secret now,
Then I change the subject to my spelling bee.

I walk outside, and stand at the street,
For my mother shall not know that I,
So untrustworthy, has her think she is ignorant,
I wish that the secret would die.

I know that everybody else knows it,
And I know my mother loves me so,
I hide, to think, in the forests,
Now, I have to go.

I hide with others under the table,
Knowing my mother is on her way,
This secret is no riddle,
I jump out shouting, “Happy Birthday!”