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