come to my house an we ll pick bones
there hands outside ready with stones
come to my yard
i got whiskey an chirs
we ll sit on the porch
as the good men stare
you ain t never spoke true
i shake an angry fist at you
you are not needed here
to help me feel low down
i m doin it fine all on my own
i her you cryin from cradle to coffin
an for you there ll be no stoppin
i see you lyin in a pine box with bitter words
that s how the boy talks
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