Yesterday my mamma said
"Your hair's too long
Hold your head up, yeah
Go away and get it cut
And don't come back
Until it's short, no, ooh"

Friday morning on the pray
[Preacher Heard?] is preachin' it up
Angry 'cause he cannot see
Why's he always pick on me? Oh...

Mamma's sure to jump with joy
For I am still her little boy, oh
People say I should behave
Shouldn't run around or rave, oh, ooh

There's a lot of good advice
To make me gentle, good and wise, oh
Though my hair's a bit too long
I know [to ride] what's right and wrong