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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