| Feeling funny in my mind, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die, fixing to die
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| Feeling funny in my mind, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die
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| Well, I don’t mind dying
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| But I hate to leave my children crying
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| Well, I look over yonder to that burying ground
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| Look over yonder to that burying ground
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| Sure seems lonesome, Lord, when the sun goes down
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| Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die, fixing to die
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| Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die
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| Well, I don’t mind dying but
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| I hate to leave my children crying
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| There’s a black smoke rising, Lord
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| It’s rising up above my head, up above my head
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| It’s rising up above my head, up above my head
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| And tell Jesus make up my dying bed
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| I’m walking kind of funny, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die, fixing to die
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| Yes I’m walking kind of funny, Lord
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| I believe I’m fixing to die
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| Fixing to die, fixing to die
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| Well, I don’t mind dying
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| But I hate to leave my children crying |