Up on my side, where it is felt
|
I pack a little pistol on my pistol belt
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I think it might be fear
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Of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid
|
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Under the skin, against the skull
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They put a little chip so that they know it all
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I think I might be scared
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Of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid
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And how it gets in the way
|
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And now I want brimstone in my garden
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I want roses set on fire
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And I, well I want what¡¯s best for me
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And I, I think I know just what that means
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Just what that means
|
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Today I coo, today I caw
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I have a pistol party and I kill ¡®em all
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I think I might be scared
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Of the man and the men with their hands inside
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And the women, oh, the women all they do is cry
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And I, well I lose my mind
|
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And now I found brimstone in my garden
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I found roses set on fire
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And I found Jesus, what a liar
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So I trade licks with Muddy Waters
|
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And I, well I found what¡¯s best for me
|
And now I see no tragedy
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And I, I found a burning rose
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And now I won¡¯t be packing little pistols
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No, no, no more
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-----------------
|
Little Pistol
|
| Mother Mother |
