| Tear a lying tongue out by its roots
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| Feed it to the mice round the chicken coup
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| Sister come a running to sound the alarm
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| There’s hell in the hen house and blood in the barn
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| Now a damn fox does what a damn fox does
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| Sneaking and a stealing and looking for a buzz
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| And the rooster is a devil with talons and a comb
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| When the sun comes up he don’t crow, he moans
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| The fireworks stared on the fourth of July
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| Place your bets on which one dies
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| The fox is killer, the fowl’s a maniac
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| They favor small faces to Fleetwood Mac
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| Hey, hey, mama better let that gravy simmer
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| Daddy gonna be a little late for dinner
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| Feathers are flying all around the farm
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| There’s hell in the hen house and blood in the barn
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| There’s a shed out back where grandpa’s been
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| He’s waiting for the south to rise again
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| Don’t light a match if you go inside
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| Smells like Hadacol and formaldehyde
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| He’s been in this world for a pretty long time
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| Says 2 nickels ain’t worth a dime
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| He’s slow as molasses, he’s wrinkled and mean
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| He don’t like Yankees or lima beans
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| Blackbird swiped him a pocket knife
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| He don’t care much for the neighbor’s wife
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| She called him a rube, a cracker and a menace
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| Worst he ever was was a Seventh-day Adventist
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| He fell in cahoots with a rock and roll band
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| Turned up drunk and tattooed in Japan
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| He couldn’t commit wholly to the devil’s side
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| His ink reads six six five point nine
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| Now back to the rooster and the damned old fox
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| One of em’s dead like a car on blocks
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| Grandpa’s a cussing and sister’s 'bout to cry
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| Blackbird said he was baked in a pie
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| Yelling and a squawking and screaming and a bawling
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| The phone is ringing, preacher is a calling
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| Can’t talk now there’s a ruckus at the gate
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| I guess salvation gonna have to wait |