(trad.)
The first thing I remember knowing
Was a lonesome whistle blowing,
And a child's dream of growing up to ride
On a freight train leaving town,
Never knowing where I'm bound,
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried.
One and only rebel child,
To a family, meek and mild:
My Mama seemed to know what lay in store.
In spite all my Sunday learning,
Towards the bad, I kept on turning.
'Til Mama couldn't hold me anymore.
And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.
That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried.
Fiddle!
Dear old Daddy, rest his soul,
Left my Mom a heavy load;
She tried so very hard to fill his shoes.
Working hours without rest,
Wanted me to have the best.
She tried to raise me right but I refused.
And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.
That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried.