Lyrics copied from http://www.brianburnsmusic.com/ao_song_06.htm

DON'T TELL MAMA
(Brian Burns, © 1999 – Brian Burns Music, BMI)

I was talking to a crusty old drunk in Ft. Worth one night and I asked him what he did for a living. "I'm an oilfield worker," he replied, "but don't tell my mama, she thinks I play piano in a whorehouse." I knew there was a Brian Burns song in there somewhere. The truth about my mother is that she never failed to encourage and support my "music habit," and that's the one and only reason I stayed out of jail (well, most of the time).

CHORUS: Don't tell Mama I'm a guitar picker.
She thinks I'm just in jail.
I been dreaming up lines and ringing up rhymes
And raising all kinds of hell.
Break Mama's heart if she saw me singing
With my hair in a ponytail,
So don't tell Mama I'm a guitar picker.
She thinks I'm just in jail.

I used to be a good ol' boy,
A clean cut kid, Mama's pride and joy,
Never stayed out late, never raised no kinda Cain.
Then I bought me an old guitar
And started out picking in a smoky bar.
If Mama finds out I've gone this far,
She'll be hanging her head in shame, so-- CHORUS

Mama loves her youngest son,
But if she ever saw me on stage with Gary P. Nunn,
She'd be plowing up my corn with a double shovel.
But I love those neon lights,
And those sexy, sultry Texas nights.
If Mama finds out what I'm doing with my life,
Good God, there's gonna be trouble, so-- CHORUS