Come to my house and we'll pick bones
Their hands outside ready with stones
Come to my yard
I got whiskey and chairs
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 doing it fine all on my own
I hear you crying from cradle to coffin
And for you there'll be no stopping
I see you lying in a pine box with bitter words
That?s how the boy talks
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