Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Zombies

WARNING: This is what happens when I get drunk and listen to country music.

Zombies ain’t easy to love and too easy to smell.
They’ll come up to bite ya cuz there ain’t no more room in Hell.
Dead flesh and torn clothes and sometimes no shoes,
And each night it’s time to eat brains.
If you don’t let them eat you, or decapitate,
They’ll prob’ly shamble away.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be zombies.
Don’t let ‘em eat people or rise from old graves
Let ‘em have good lives and active brain waves.
Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be zombies.
Cuz they’ll never stay dead and they always want head –
Nommin’ on someone they love.

Zombies like helpless victims and people who can’t run
Streets with no obstacles, buildings with no locking doors.
Them that don’t know them won’t run far and them that do
Sometimes can’t run fast enough.
They ain’t dead, they’re just undead and their hunger rules them,
Good luck makin’ it through the night.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be zombies.
Don’t let ‘em eat people or rise from old graves
Let ‘em have good lives and active brain waves.
Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be zombies.
Cuz they’ll never stay dead and they always want head –
Nommin’ on someone they love.