Everybody Works but Father is an American popular song by Jean Havez published in 1905 and performed by several singers, including Groucho Marx. When I was about 16 (much later than 1905) I read a parody of it called Everybody Works But Father (As W. S. Gilbert Would Have Written It) which began:

If ever ‘round our domicile you chance to be a-wandering,
You’ll probably find Mother in the poignant throes of laundering.
Along with sister Anna she does up the household lingerie,
Not seeming to experience the slightest sense of injury.
    etc, ending with:
Don’t blame us if we meditate a mild attempt at parricide.

(this is from memory, and I haven’t seen or heard it since I first read it, so I might have changed a few words, but you get the idea.)

I’ve been trying to find it; google insists that the lines given don’t appear (as whole sentences) anywhere on the internet. When asked for the title, its AI offered this:

The Song of the Idler (A Bab Ballad)

(Verse 1)
At six a.m., the busy throng
Begin their active daily toil,
With hammer, needle, pick, and prong,
They make a great industrious coil.
While sister Jane computes the tax,
And Mother scrubs the parlor floor,
Father relaxes, and relaxes,
And sleeps behind the pantry door.
For every soul in this community,
Works with a frantic, wild impunity,
Save Father, who with dignity,
Maintains a state of nullity!

(Chorus)
Oh, everybody works but Father,
And he sits around all day,
He finds the effort rather bother,
And smokes a pipe of clay.
Mother takes in washing — what a pity!
Sister Ann is in the city,
Everybody works at our house
But my old man!

(Verse 2)
A man named “Work” once called to see
Why Father never shirked his rest,
“I am a man of leisure,” he
Explained, with pride within his breast.
“To work,” said he, “is simple toil,
But not to work — that is an Art!
I merely tend the fireside coil,
And play a sedentary part!”
He takes a lofty, high position,
And treats it as a holy mission,
To sit in calm erudition,
And defy the law of competition!

(Chorus)
Oh, everybody works but Father… (etc.)

(Verse 3)
We thought wed make him beat a rug,
To stir his lazy bones a bit,
He gave his shoulders quite a shrug,
And said, “I have a sudden fit!
A fit of profound contemplation,
Upon the nature of the dust,”
And so he left the rug-probation,
To sit, as he so surely must.
His only duty, he defines it,
Is to take the job, and then resigns it,
And though a lazy life confines it,
Hes happiest when he declines it!

(Chorus/Finale)
Oh, everybody works but Father,
And he sits around all day,
He finds the effort rather bother,
And smokes a pipe of clay.
Mother takes in washing — what a pity!
Sister Ann is in the city,
Everybody works at our house
But my old man!