Lyrics

Come to my house An' we'll pick bones There hands outside Ready with stones Come to my yard I got whiskey an' chairs An' 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 An' for you, there'll be no stopping I see you lying in a pine box with bitter words Cos' that's how the boy talks