| 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 |