***************************************************** Mommas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Monks Cowboys ain't easy to love Monks ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold and they're always so broke. they'd rather give you a song They'd rather give you forgiveness than diamonds or gold. than tell you a joke. Lonestar belt buckles and Belts made of ropes old faded Levis and and robes made of burlap, each night begins a new day. and chanting from break of day. If you don't understand him If you try to get him and he don't die young, to go have some fun, he'll prob'ly just ride away. he'll prob'ly just go sing and pray. Momma don't let your babies Mommas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys grow up to be priests. Don't let 'em pick guitars and Don't let 'em go to seminary and drive them old trucks, then become monks, let 'em be doctors 'n lawyers 'n such. let 'em be rock stars or Rabbis or punks. Mommas - - - - - Mommas - - - 'Cause they'll never stay home and 'Cause they never go out and they're always alone, they're so darned devout, and even with someone they love. there's only one One they love. Cowboys like smokey ol' poolrooms Monks like smokey old incense and clear mountain mornin's. and gruel in the morning. Little warm puppies and children Chanting for hours and beating and girls of the night. themselves with small whips. Them that don't know him won't Those folks that know them know like him and them that do they like communion and sometimes won't know how to take him. take it with smiles on their lips. He ain't wrong he's just different, They take it each morning, but his pride won't let him do (more often at times), and things to make you think he's right. take it in not so small sips! *****************************************************