Storm it shook ya down
|
From the burial ground
|
There was mud on your face
|
Barely lost and barely found
|
|
And the shrunken heads around your neck
|
Just replicas of thoughts
|
Whose day had finally come
|
|
You drag it fast
|
You can drag it slow
|
But don't drag it this way
|
End-in-tow
|
|
Walked beneath the river bridge
|
And grabbed the ol' rope swing
|
Said "Out there
|
You'll see the bottom
|
And it swallows while it sings
|
|
And the only gold you'll find there
|
Are caps on these two feet."
|
Dead dogs float on by
|
|
You drag it fast
|
You can drag it slow
|
But don't drag it this way
|
End-in-tow
|
|
Better graves than ditches
|
On this we will agree
|
There is good earth on the west bank
|
Good nails and rope and pine
|
|
You can picnic at the Cataract
|
Or paddle to the shore
|
But you'll join the diggin' party
|
Just like you did before.
|
|
You drag it fast
|
You can drag it slow
|
But don't drag it this way
|
End-in-tow
|
End-in-tow
|
End-in-tow
|
|
-----------------
|
End-in-Tow
|
| The Walkabouts |
