A  E7  A
A  Am  E7  A Bm E7 Am

[Verse 1]
Am                               A
You people can talk about your Cold-shell roadie mamas
           E7                           Am
Mama, your chin up about your house being brown
A                              Am      F#m
Well I got a woman way down in Mobile, Alabama
Bm                                 E7
She's the warmest thing in that town, doggone her skin


A                       E7
She ain't got no Papa, Leave me alone
                         A
She ain't got no big boy Please take me home
F#m
This mama just got one object in view
Bm                                   E7
And what she said to me I know she's bound to say to you


[Chorus]
                      A            Am           F#m
She'll say, "Papa if you ain't got matrimonial inclanations
Bm         E7                 A
Then keep your hands to yourself
A                            Am                   F#m
Daddy, if you ain't got no bungalow-made reservations
Bm              E7
Son, don't let your hands be felt

A                                F#m
Well, I'm this red hot Papa you heard so much talk about
                         Bm                           E7
But this is an asbestos woman who mortally put your fire out

 A                          Am         F#m
Papa if you ain't got matrimonial intentions
Bm         E7                 A
Then keep your hands to yourself
A                             Am          F#m
Daddy, if you ain't got no bungalow-made reservations
Bm              E7          A
Son, don't let your hands be felt


A                    F#m
When I first met you I had no shoes
Bm                            E7
But look at me now I got these barefooted blues

 A                          Am         F#m
Papa if you ain't got matrimonial intentions
Bm               E7            A
Then keep your hands to yourself

[Bridge]

A E7 A Am E7 A Am F#m Bm E7 Am

[Chorus]

 A                          Am         F#m
Papa if you ain't got matrimonial inclanations
Bm         E7                 A
Then keep your hands to yourself
A                                Am          F#m
Daddy, if you ain't got no bungalow-made reservations
Bm              E7          A
Son, don't let your hands be felt


A                       F#m
Well, I'm this red hot Papa you heard so much talk about
                         Bm                        E7
But this is an asbestos woman who mortally put my fire out


 A                          Am         F#m
Papa if you ain't got matrimonial intentions
Bm         E7                 A
Then keep your hands to yourself
A                                Am          F#m
Daddy, if you ain't got no bungalow-made reservations
Bm              E7          A
Oh Death, where is that sting?