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The first thing I remember knowing, |
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Was a lonesome whistle blowing, |
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And a young un's dream of growing up to ride; |
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On a freight train leaving town, |
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Not knowing where I'm bound, |
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No-one could change my mind but Mama tried. |
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One and only rebel child, |
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From a family, meek and mild: |
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My Mama seemed to know what lay in store. |
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Despite all my Sunday learning, |
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Towards the bad, I kept on turning. |
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'Til Mama couldn't hold me anymore. |
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And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole. |
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No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried. |
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Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied. |
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That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried. |
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Instrumental break. |
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Dear old Daddy, rest his soul, |
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Left my Mom a heavy load; |
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She tried so very hard to fill his shoes. |
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Working hours without rest, |
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Wanted me to have the best. |
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She tried to raise me right but I refused. |
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And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole. |
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No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried. |
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Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied. |
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That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried. |
