Barbara, don't let Bush Baby eat any more pretzels.
'Cause he's not safe at home, when he's eating alone.
Even if his head's in a glove.

Your first boy, George, is called the Shrub
And he's so hard to mold.
But it means much to him to be around long.
He'll do as he's told.
Bush Baby chuckles, as he will soon realize
What a sight, to see him this way.
But he can't understand it;
Just how he got stung.
He fainted and fell right away.

The Bush Boy watched football in his room
And then with no warning,
 
 

Barbara, don't let Bush Baby eat any more pretzels.
What good is bein' czar, or havin' big bucks?
Please call the doctor if his throat's still stuck.

Barbara, don't let Bush Baby eat any more pretzels.
'Cause he's not safe at home, when he's eating alone.
Even if his head's in a glove.
 
 

Mama's don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone
even with someone they love

A cowboy ain't easy to love
And he's harder to hold
And it means more to him to give you a song
Than silver or gold
Budweiser buckles and soft faded Levi's
And each night begins a new day
If you can't understand him
And he don't die young
He'll probably just ride away

A cowboy loves smokey ole pool rooms 
And clear mountain mornings
little warm puppies and children and girls of the night
them that don't know him won't like him 
and them that do sometimes won't know how to take him 
he's not wrong; he's just different
But his pride won't let him do things
to make you think he's right 

Mama's don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys,
don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks
make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mama's don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone
even with someone they love