Friday, October 23, 1998

Mommas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Stockbrokers
by Warren S. Levine, a Fool in Seattle ([email protected])

Stock brokers ain't easy to like 'cause they're brash and they're bold
They'll sell you a dog and then leave your butt out in the cold
Gucci belt buckles and suits by Armani
And Rolexes give them away
If you don't go with him, then he won't give up
And call you right back the next day

Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be brokers
They sell junk bonds and hedge funds and bad penny stocks
Once you buy in you find it's all a crock
Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be brokers
They'll go golfin' and fishin' and charge fat commissions
You'll be throwing your money away

Brokers like smoky old barrooms and drink Johnnie Walker
Makin' them cold calls and hard sells long into the night
Them that don't know him won't buy them but then that dude pushes if he thinks you'll bite
Well, they're making a market and his boss won't let him off till he's sold out in a night

Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be fund managers
They just can't keep up with the old S&P
But since I'm a Fool, they don't listen to me
Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be fund managers
They're fuzzy and warm but they underperform
You'll be throwing your money away...

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