Daddy was a guitar man, he was the best I ever saw Ditch pickin' out on the road, and he'd like to kill my ma She blamed it on his guitar, she said, boy, I promise you If you ever learn to pick a guitar, be the last thing you ever do Don't tell mama I'm a guitar picker, she'll think I've lost my mind Mama knows where a guitar goes, trouble's close behind I could fight and drink, rob a bank, and raise all kind of Well, don't you tell mama I'm a guitar picker, she thinks I'm just in jail I got me a job as a guitar man in a bar called the Rusty Saddle Till my mama hit the stage in an absolute rage Chased me home with a ping-pong paddle Now, don't tell mama I'm pickin' and prancin', she'll track me down, no doubt And I don't mind when she tans my hide, but I hate it when I get time out Yeah, don't tell mama I'm a guitar picker, she'll think I've lost my mind Mama knows where a guitar goes, trouble's close behind I could fight and drink, rob a bank, and raise all kind of Well, don't you tell mama I'm a guitar picker, she thinks I'm just in jail Here we go, boys! Here we go, boys! Here we go, boys! Here we go, boys!