|
Well sit right down my wicked son |
|
And let me tell you a story |
|
About the boy who fell from glory |
|
And how he was a wicked son |
|
This ain't no holiday |
|
But it always turn out this way |
|
Here I am, with my hand |
|
He took his sister from his head |
|
And then painted her on the sheets |
|
And then rolled her up in grass and trees |
|
And they kissed till they were dead |
|
This ain't no holiday |
|
But it always turns out this way |
|
Here I am, with my hand |
|
Well sit right down my evil son |
|
And let me tell you a story |
|
About the boy who fell from glory |
|
And how he was a wicked son |
|
This ain't no holiday, oh no |
|
But it always turns out this way |
|
Here I am, with my hand |
|
This ain't no holiday |
|
But it always turns out this way |
|
Here I am, with my hand |
