| Delia, Delia, how can it be?
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| You love that old rounder, but you don’t love me
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| Well, that’s one more rounder gone
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| Delia, Delia sitting all around
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| Some of your old rounders gonna pay my way back home
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| Sitting on the housetop, high as I can see
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| You love that old rounder, but you don’t love me
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| Delia’s poor mother took a trip out West
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| When she returned, Delia lyin' in rest
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| Delia’s mother wept, Delia’s father moaned
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| They’d have wanted their poor child to die at home
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| Rubber tired buggy, two-seated hack
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| Took Delia to the graveyard, never brought her back
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| Kenny lookin' high, Kenny lookin' low
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| Shot poor Delia with that hated .44
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| Delia, Delia, wouldn’t take no one’s advice
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| Last words I heard her say were, «Jesus Christ!»
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| Judge said to Kenny, «Here's a natural fact:
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| You going to wait in jail till Delia come back»
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| Kenny’s in the basement, drinking from a silver cup
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| Delia’s in the graveyard, never come back up
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| Kenny said to judge, «What's the fuss about?
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| Just that no good woman trying to put me out» |