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