| I drive a souped-up sickle
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| I lead a tough life
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| I get the women when I whistle
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| I keep up at night
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| I lost my job down at the station
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| But I don’t care at all
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| I got a buffalo nickel and a rabbit foot
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| Looking for some good luck
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| Well I’m all hillbilly
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| From my mullet to my boots
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| So don’t you mess around with me
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| I got a screw loose
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| So when the devil’s talking to me
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| And I feel I can’t stop him
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| I call the angel in my pocket
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| 'Cause I know she’s gonna rock it
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| Yeah, the skinny little angel was attacked by a crow
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| She’s got a red hot paper with a smooth flow
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| When she slides her jimmy like a lovesick duck
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| She leaves me grinning like a monkey on a coconut truck
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| So when the demons press on through me
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| And the blues come knocking
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| I call the angel in my pocket
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| 'Cause I know she’s gonna rock it
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| She’s gonna rock it (Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s gonna rock it)
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| She’s gon', (She gonna—come on)
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| So when the people treat me crudely
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| I shut my door and I lock it
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| I call the angel in my pocket
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| 'Cause I know she’s gonna rock it
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| I call the angel in my pocket
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| 'Cause I know she’s gonna rock it
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| I call the angel in my pocket
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| 'Cause I know she’s gonna rock it
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| She’s gonna rock it
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| She gonna rock it
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| She gonna rock it |