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

• American Wheeze
• Black Bush
• Black Soul Choir
• Harm's Way
• Heel on The Shovel
• Horse Head
• I Seen What I Saw
• Neck on The New Blade
• Prison Shoe Romp
• Ruthie Lingle
• Scrawled in Sap
• Strong Man