Come to my house
An' we'll pick bones
There hands outside
Ready with stones
Come to my yard
I got whiskey an' chairs
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 doing it fine all on my own

I hear you crying from cradle to coffin
An' for you, there'll be no stopping
I see you lying in a pine box with bitter words
Cos' that's how the boy talks