Vince Triple-O Martin

Mama said you lazy boy

You better get yourself a job

You can't go on living like this

You know you upset your pa

And can't you hear how the neighbors talk

You're making me the laughing stock for blocks

Playing on your guitar (you foolish kid)

All you want to do is lay around

And listen to the pocket radio

Or wander over to the Jennings house

And play so loud they say you shake the floor

And every night you're out 'til 4 or 5

You're bound to drive me slowly out of my mind

>From playing on that guitar (it'll kill ya son)

But papa works from dawn to dusk

And every night his back aches worse

While mama takes in washing too

And most of what she makes goes to the church

And if I ask them why they work that way

They look at me as if I've gone insane

>From playing on the guitar (it'll turn your fingers green)

If I put fourteen new albums out

And say six of 'em made the charts

My mom would call me on Sunday night

To ask me if I finally got a job

And where did she go wrong I've hurt her so

Then she'll pray to God to save me from my fate

Of playing on the guitar (it's a foolish thing)

I guess they feel a man should work himself

Tell he drops in a broken heap

And for his life work he gets a watch

And a milky handshake from Mr. Cheap

A song in church on Sunday's fine

But never lose your head and waste your life

By playing on that guitar

(ah rock me now, and hit a lick for me boys)