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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