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By the banks of the river where the willows grow cold |
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Wild birds warble the strange soundin' song |
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By the banks of the river where the waters run cold |
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Well that's where I first listened the lies that she told. |
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He lays there each night all alone and he weeps |
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Nothing ain't worse than a night wothout sleep |
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The letters she wrote him they were written in vain |
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But I know that her conscience still echoes my name. |
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If the ladies were blackbirds and the ladies were fishes |
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I'd lay there for hours in the cold rainy matches |
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If the ladies were squirrels yeah with a big bushy tail |
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I'd fill up my shotgun with a rock salt and nails. |
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We'd fill up our shotgun with a rock salt and nails... |
