| Well she’s wurn’t so little | 
| And she wasn’t really nice | 
| We all thought she was a goner | 
| Till she was sighted once or twice | 
| Pretty as a picture | 
| But the picture finally cracked | 
| Her whole world got dead and buried | 
| Now she’s come a-crawling back | 
| Celia — Celia, I never dug your trip | 
| Celia — Celia! | 
| Is that a vaper on your lip? | 
| Saint C. — Y'know it’s time you caed the news | 
| Celia — Blessed lady, nobody ever dug your blues | 
| Back back — back back. | 
| You slipped th cracks | 
| Click- Clack. | 
| My God she’s back on track | 
| Ceecee — ceecee wu’d you paint us black? | 
| Look back — All the time you stabbd our back | 
| (And that’s a fact) | 
| How she ever got to Sainthood | 
| Kind of never made no sense | 
| There were two strikes in her favor | 
| And eighty-eight strikes against | 
| Squandered her credentials | 
| Guzzling canned heat with the boys | 
| She said she heard sweet, sweet music | 
| But all she was hearing was noise | 
| Celia — Celia, I never dug your trip | 
| Celia — Celia! | 
| Is that a vaper on your lip? | 
| Saint C. — Y'know it’s time you caed the news | 
| Celia — Blessed lady, nobody ever dug your blues | 
| Back back — back back. | 
| You slipped the cracks | 
| Click- Clack. | 
| My God she’s back on track | 
| Ceecee — ceecee wu’d you paint us black? | 
| Look back — All the time you stabbed our back | 
| (And that’s a fact) | 
| Celia, is that you | 
| Or just a shadow? | 
| Celia, tell me true | 
| We heard you got your head bust out | 
| In Colorado | 
| Goodbye Celia, my friend | 
| Of I ever should see you | 
| Ot won’t be the end |