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[ti:Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies ] |
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Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys |
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Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold |
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And they'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold |
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Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levis |
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And each night begins a new day |
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And if you don't understand him and he don't die young |
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You'll probably just ride away |
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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys |
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Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks |
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Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such |
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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys |
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They'll never stay home and they're always alone |
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Even with someone they love |
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Cowboys like smoky old pool rooms, clear mountain mornings |
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Little warm puppies and children, girls of the night |
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And them that don't know him won't like him and them that do |
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Sometimes won't know how to take him |
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He ain't wrong, he's just different but his pride won't let him |
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Do things to make you think he's right |
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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys |
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Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks |
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Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such |
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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys |
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They'll never stay home and they're always alone |
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Even with someone they love |
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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys |
