Mama Don't Whip Little Buford

Mama, don't whoop little Buford

Mama, don't pound on his head

Mama, don't whoop little Buford

I think you should shoot him instead

Buford brought home his report card

Buford was proud as could be

At last he had passed through the third grade

And Buford is just twenty-three

Mama, don't whoop little Buford

Mama, you'll just be a wreck

For Buford is studying Judo

And he'll break your scrawny ole' neck

When Buford was five, he was smoking

And drinking hard liquor at six

At seven, he learned about women

At eight, Buford got his first fix

Mama, don't whoop little Buford

You'll never know how Buford feels

Buford is good to you, mama

He brings you whatever he steals

Now Buford is gone, what a pity

At last we found happiness

We bought a new home in the city

And we won't give him our address

So, mama don't whoop little Buford

Mama, don't knock out his breath

Just teach him to be a folk singer

Then Buford will soon starve to death