I'll shoot you dead for the father
 Of the coal miner's daughter
 Beneath the icicle tusk
 You and me among the flattering dusk
 In my haste I draw my weapon
 Designing your final lesson
 As you recede to the floor
 All is silent but the fluttering door
 Twenty-five grand on the table
 Of the high wall street stable
 I'm not responsible for
 The reputation of the neighborhood whore
 But I'm a keyhole peeker
 And you're my surveillance keeper
 And though my memory rusts
 I will always see the icicle tusk
 And I must admit
 That it gets lonesome on my shelf
 This much I can tell
 This much I can tell