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