Scotty B. Goode

Born in a crossfire hurricane; I ain't easy to love and I'm harder to hold. I'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold. Lonestar belt buckles and old faded levis, each night begins a new day, if you don't understand me, an' I don't die young, I'll prob'ly just ride away.I like smokey old pool rooms and clear mountain mornings, little warm puppies and children and girls of the night. Them that don't know me won't like me, and them that do sometimes won't know how to take me, I ain't wrong, I'm just different, but my pride won't let me do things to make you think I'm right.Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks, let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such. Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. 'Cos they'll never stay home and they're always alone, even with someone they love.I gotta freaky ol' lady named a Cocaine Katy who embroidree's all mah' jeans. I got my poor ol' grey haired brother Driving my limousine.Now its all designed to blow my mind, but my mind wont really be blown, like the blow that'll get me, when i get my picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone.