Saturday, January 31, 2009

Down In The Gallows

Down in the Gallows
There's a sweet talking man
With southern-bread accent
And a cigar in his hand.
His flesh ain't quite the color
Of most human skin,
But you can tell by his eyeballs
Just where he has been.
He twists up the course cord
'Cause there can't be no slack
'Fore down in Gallows
There ain't no coming back.

Oh up on a highchair
With the wind rollin by
Prayin and a whimperin
From the dread deep inside
Strung up to the wood-rot
'Neath a boiling hot sun
Down in the Gallows
A celebration's begun.

Hold up your right hand
If you want to be next
Dead sin is grinnin
For a victim-complex
It's not quite so bloody
As most death's can be
But a quick little hangin
Can't give too much misery
So give him your money
Step up to the line
Forget your trangressions
And we'll have a good time.

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