| On my way to the bay
|
| For to get my pay
|
| I got waylaid
|
| By an engine braid
|
| His shades were dark
|
| And his car was parked
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| In a grove of apple trees
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| And it wouldn’t start
|
| So I drew my gun
|
| And I made a beam
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| On the snow-white girl
|
| Sittin' in an apple tree
|
| I said, «she is the one
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| Who is keeping you here
|
| She’s a witch with an itch
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| So you’d better steer clear»
|
| Well, that engine boy
|
| He took one good look
|
| Then he took my gun
|
| And shot that witch in the foot
|
| Yeah, she fell with a sigh
|
| Through the grass, to the ground
|
| But that’s all just a part
|
| Of her plan, I have found
|
| 'Cause when we got up close
|
| Well, she turned with a grin
|
| With her eyes painted black
|
| And her lips painted thin
|
| She beckoned to me
|
| But I said not a word
|
| Then she scooped up that boy
|
| Like a dog with a bird
|
| Well, I shot her once more
|
| Direct through the eye
|
| But she shook it off quick
|
| And she called me aside
|
| She said, «you know how this works
|
| I think better than most»
|
| Then she kissed my mouth
|
| And I wept like a ghost
|
| On my way to the bay
|
| For to get my pay
|
| I came upon a girl
|
| At an engine braid
|
| I’d known her once
|
| And it made me sad
|
| For her magic had wandered
|
| And her teeth had gone bad |