ORLANDO, FLORIDA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Come to my house an well pick bones

There hands outside ready with stones

Come to my yard

I got whiskey an chirs

Well sit on the porch

As the good men stare



You aint never spoke true

I shake an angry fist at you

You are not needed here

To help me feel low down

Im doin it fine all on my own



I her you cryin from cradle to coffin

An for you therell be no stoppin

I see you lyin in a pine box with bitter words

Thats how the boy talks