Quotes About Momma

You might be a redneck if your Momma would rather go the racetrack than the Kennedy Center.

If you talk bad about country music, it's like saying bad things about my momma. Them's fightin' words

You might be a redneck if your momma tore her best dress coon hunting.

Are you past pity? If you have consciousness now, if I something I can call "you" has something like "consciousness," I doubt you remember the last days. I play them over and over: I lift your wasted body onto the commode, your arms looped around my neck, aiming your bony bottom so that it will not bruise on a rail. Faintly you repeat, "Momma, Momma.

I bet he burned real well. All that fat? I bet he went up like a lamb chop on a barbecue." King said nothing. Reacher said, "You would too, probably. You're not much thinner. Is it a genetic thing? Was your momma fat as well as ugly?" No

This is the girl they keep calling a monster. I want you to keep that firmly in mind. The girl who could be satisfied with a hamburger and a dime root beer after her only school dance so her momma wouldn't be worried . . .

Well, a little girl is more likely to trust a person who reminds her of her momma, right?" Depends on what her momma's like, I thought.

The weight of appreciation and the threat, which was never spoken, of a return to Momma were burdens that clogged my childish wits into impassivity.

We want to make decisions based on facts. Many people do not. They make their decisions based on what their momma says or what their daddy says or what their political party says — without engaging their brains.

men were off the road and onto our yard now, their eyes never yet looking up to us; men I couldn't place from anywhere. I looked behind me to Momma, saw her there with a hand to her face, covering her eyes, the other hand at her throat and holding on to the collar of her dress. I turned to the sound of the men on the porch steps, felt myself backing up too. The four of them moved toward me, struggling with the burden they bore, the wool blanket seeming heavier than

Cyrus's momma thinks I'm a gift from God. I didn't have the heart to tell her if I was then God was guilty of handing out gag gifts, Joyce said.

Even my momma asked what I'mma do. Decisions, decisions/ In case this is war, then I load up on all ammunition/ If a n----a want problems, my trigger's on auto.

They rung my bell to ask me. Could I recommend a maid. I said, yes, your momma.

Dear God... Please tell momma that REAL Cowboys don't take baths they just DUST OFF. -Amen-

Yeah school girl, cool girl. Your dress is sexy and your momma is a cougar.

in the morning." "Do oak, forget that bronze and copper crap. We buried Momma last year in oak and it was the prettiest damned thang I'd ever seen. Magargel can get one out of Tupelo in two hours. And forget the vault, too. They're just rip-offs. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, bury 'em and let 'em rot is the only way to go. The Episcopalians do it right." Ray was a little dazed by the torrent of advice, but was thankful nonetheless.