Tradition, tradition! Tradition!
Tradition, tradition! Tradition!
Who, day and night, must scramble for a living,
Feed a wife and children, say his daily prayers?
And who has the right, as master of the house,
To have the final word at home?
The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.
The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.
Who must know the way to make a proper home,
A quiet home, a kosher home?
Who must raise the family and run the home,
So Papa's free to read the holy books?
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
At three, I started Hebrew school.
At ten, I learned a trade.
I hear they've picked a bride for me.
I hope she's pretty.
The son, the son! Tradition!
The son, the son! Tradition!
And who does Mama teach to mend and tend and fix,
Preparing me to marry whoever Papa picks?
The daughter, the daughter! Tradition!
The daughter, the daughter! Tradition
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John Hiatt lyrics
