Ronan Keating - Mamas arms

^DGoing back to a tender age, ^ASo full of confusion and rage, ^CDaddy says, Boys, your Mama's g^Gone. ^DThere's a hand on your shoulder as you're throwing dirt, ^ASomeone says, Time heals the hurt. ^CLittle man, you got to keep on keepin' ^Gon, But ^Dall y^Aou ^Dwant ^Gis ^DMa^Ama's ^Darms.

^DYou ride back home in a limosine, ^AThe saddest car that you've ever seen, ^CYour brother can not look you in the ^Geye. ^DLightning strikes, thunder roars, ^AAn early winter in that heart of yours, ^CBut you swear you won't let them see you ^Gcry 'Cause a^Dll ^Ayou ^Dwant ^Gis ^DMa^Ama's a^Drms.

^DThe neighbors come and bring you pies, ^AEndless words and futile sighs, ^CAnd you run up to your room and lock the d^Goor. ^DAnd there you are in your Sunday best, ^AThe way your Mama would have had you dressed ^CAnd you realize it doesn't matter a^Gnymore 'Cause ^Dall ^Ayou ^Dwant ^Gis ^DMa^Ama's ^Garms.

^D'Round and 'round and 'round it goes. ^AThe seasons change the young boy grows ^CTo understand it's all part of some ^Gplan. ^DYou used to wonder what it's all about. ^ANow those are questions you can do without. ^CYou laugh them off and do the best you ^Gcan ^DAll ^Ayou ^Dwant ^Gis ^DMa^Ama's ^Garms ^DAll ^Ayou ^Dwant ^Gis ^DMa^Ama's ^Garms