Come to my house an we'll pick bones 
There hands outside ready with stones 
Come to my yard 

I got whiskey an chirs 
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 doin' it fine all on my own 
I her you cryin' from cradle to coffin 
An for you there'll be no stoppin' 
I see you lyin' in a pine box with bitter words 
That's how the boy talks