| She hides in an attic concealed on a shelf | 
| Behind volumes of literature based on herself | 
| And runs across the pages like some tiny elf | 
| Knowing that it’s hard to find | 
| Stuff way back in her mind | 
| Winds up spending all of her time | 
| Trying to memorize every line | 
| Sweet Lorraine | 
| Ah, sweet Lorraine | 
| Sweet lady of death wants me to die | 
| So she can come sit by my bedside and sigh | 
| And wipe away tears from all my friends' eyes | 
| Then softly, she will explain | 
| Just exactly who’s to blame | 
| For causing me to go insane | 
| And finally blow out my brain | 
| Sweet Lorraine | 
| Mmm, sweet Lorraine | 
| Well, you know that it’s a shame and a pity | 
| You were raised up in the city | 
| And you never | 
| Learned nothing 'bout country ways | 
| Ah, country ways | 
| The joy of life, she dresses in black | 
| With celestial secrets engraved on her back | 
| And her face keeps flushing, but she’s got the knack | 
| But you know when you look into her eyes | 
| All she’s learned, she’s had to memorize | 
| And the only way you’ll ever get her high | 
| Is to let her do her thing, and then watch you die | 
| Sweet Lorraine | 
| Ah, sweet Lorraine | 
| Now, she’s the one who gives us all those magical things | 
| And reads us stories out of the I Ching | 
| And she passes out a whole new basket of rings | 
| That, when you put on your hand | 
| Makes you one of the angel band | 
| And gives you the power to be a man | 
| But what it does for her, you never quite understand | 
| Sweet Lorraine | 
| Ah, sweet Lorraine | 
| Well, you know | 
| That it’s a shame and a pity | 
| You were raised | 
| Up in the city | 
| And you never | 
| Learned nothing 'bout country ways | 
| Oh, country ways | 
| Oh, 'bout country ways | 
| Yeah, country ways | 
| Oh, country ways |