Quixanne, ah'm in its grip
|
Quixanne, ah'm in its grip
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sinken in the mud
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patron-saint of the Bog.
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they cum with boots of blud
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wit pitchfawk and with club
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chantin out mah name
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got doggies strainin onna chain
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Lucy, ah'll love ya till the end!
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they hunt me like a dog
|
down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!
|
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so cum mah executioners! cum bounty hunters!
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cum mah county killers--for ah cannot run no more
|
ah cannot run no more
|
ah cannot run no more
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no I can't!
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Lucy, ya won't see this face agin
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wheb ya caught ya swing and burn...
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down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!
|
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the trees are veiled in fog
|
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the trees are veiled in fog
|
like so many jilted brides
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now they're all breakin down and cry
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cryin tears upon mah face
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cryin tears upon mah face
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and they smell of gasolene
|
a-a-a-a-ah- scr-e-e-e-a-am
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Lucy, ya made a sinner out of me
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now ah'm burnin like a saint
|
down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!
|
|
so cum mah executioners! cum mah bounty huntahs!
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cum mah county killers--ya know ah cannot run no more
|
no ah cannot run no more.
|
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-----------------
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SWAMPLAND
|
The Birthday Party |