Writers ain’t easy to love and
they’re hard to understand.
They’d rather give you a new book
than shake your hand.
Typewriter ribbons and faded computer
keys,
And despair fills out their whole day.
If you don’t read his work, and he
don’t quit young,
He’ll probably curse all the way.
Mammas, don’t let your babies grow up
to be writers.
Don’t let ’em plot stories or in
words get stuck,
Let ’em be drug dealers or drive big
ass trucks.
Mammas, don’t let your babies grow up
to be writers.
Cause they’ll always be home and
they’re always alone,
And writing's all they can talk of.
Writers like smoking their pipes and
hard drinks in the mornings,
Cups of stale coffee and fiction and
words that feel right.
Them that don’t know him won’t get
him and them that do
Sometimes will think he’s quite grim.
He ain’t wrong, he’s just reticent
but his pride won’t let him
Type words that just don't feel right.
Mammas, don’t let your babies grow up
to be writers.
Don’t let ’em make characters
without any luck,
Make ’em do something that pays
a few bucks.
Mammas, don’t let your babies grow up
to be writers.
They’ll drive you crazy by turning off the phone,
And writing's all they can talk of.
(my thanks to Willie, Waylon, Ed Bruce and Patsy Bruce)
(my thanks to Willie, Waylon, Ed Bruce and Patsy Bruce)
4 comments:
hum, I'm trying not to see myself in this one. :)
I admit most of these are pretty silly, but living in the middle of nowhere, I have a lot of driving time on my hands to get anyplace. And when there's nothing on the radio worthy of my attention, this is the kind of garbage that comes into my head.
And you should see the ones I DON'T put on this blog. I took another Waylon song, "Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way," and turned it into "I Don't Think Howard Done It This Way." About REH, of course.
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