Mama said, you lazy boy,
why don't you get yourself a job?
You can't go on living like this,
you know you upset your pa.
Can't you hear how the
neighbors talk?
You're making me laugh and stop blabbing,
playing on your guitar.
Look at your foolish boy
All you wanna do is lay around
And listen to your pocket radio
Wander over to the
Jennings' house
And play so loud they say
you shake the floor
And every night you're out till four or five
Oh, well, you're gonna send
me slowly out of my mind
Playing on the guitar for
such a foolish game
Yeah, na -na -na -na -na -n a
Woppa -boppa -boppa -me
Papa works from dawn to dusk, oh,
and every night his back aches worse
Mama, she takes him washing, too,
but most of what she makes goes to the church
And if I ask them why they work that way, yeah,
they look at me as if I've gone insane
Playing on the guitar,
you turn your fingers green
If I put fourteen new albums out and
say a sixth sub made the charts
My mom would call me on
Sunday night
She'd ask me if I finally got a job
Where did she go wrong
I've heard her so
Won't you pray to
God to save me from my fate
Of playin' on the guitar
Oh, rock me now
Da -da -da -da -da -da
Bum -ba -dum -dum -dum
-dum -dum
I guess a man is supposed to work himself
Until he drops in a broken heap
And for his live work he gets a wasp
A milky handshake from
Mr.
Cheap
The song in church on
Sunday's fine, but never lose your head
and waste your life playing on a guitar.