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)