Come to my house an we'll pick bones
Their hands outside ready with stones
Come to my yard, I got whiskey an'
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, yeah, yeah
I hear you cryin' from cradle to coffin
An' for you there'll be no stoppin'
See you lyin' in a pine box with bitter words
That's how the boy talks, yeah