Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
Don't let 'em fight Imps and fly them X-Wings
Make 'em be Senators and Jedi and things
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
They never settle down and they'll have "one more round!"
Till somebody carries them home

Pilots ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold
And they'd rather shoot TIEs than have diamonds or gold
Ugly orange flightsuits and Corellian Bloodstripes and each day might be his last
And if you don't understand him and he don't die young
He'll prob'ly just fly away fast

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
Don't let 'em blow up Death Stars and drink Whyren's all night
Make 'em be lawyers and fight for what's right
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
They never settle down and they'll have "one more round!"
Till somebody carries them home

Pilots like smokey ol' pool rooms and rainy Coruscant mornings (and afternoons, and nights...)
Little warm Ewoks and whisky and girls of the night
And them that don't know him are scared sithless
And them that do are just amused
He ain't stupid, he's just stubborn and his pride won't let him
Give up when he knows he's right

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
Don't let 'em kill moffs and piss off Isard
Make 'em be accountants and poets and bards
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
They never settle down and they'll have "one more round!"
Till somebody carries them home

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be pilots
Don't let 'em stage insurrections and beat up on MPs and talk back to senators...
Make 'em be mechanics and or drag queens or pirates... hell, anything's better than this...

"Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys"
written by E. & P. Bruce; sung by Willie Nelson.

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