American Wheeze

I've grown tired of the words of the single man

Hangin' lifeless on his every word, oh no man

You don't understand, dear man

The little angel held out her hand

Sayin', "Father, father I love you"

Oh, praise Jesus, I got you

Okay yeah, billygoat and we'll play farm

I didn't mean to spirit stiff you

Nor to do you no harm

You say you've got a bone to pick

Well, there's plenty showin' on me

Come on up, yeah, bring your temper boy

We'll see, we'll see

Yeah, you may be the one, come on son

Bring your blade and your gun

And if I die by your hand

I've gotta home in glory land