| Like a Mississippi wind-chime in the breeze
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| Dangling down from the sycamore tree
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| Like a vessel of rats shattered on the ground
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| Old Judge Slitz struck the hammer down
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| Its dust to dust to angel lust
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| For ol' Saint Angeline
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| Aunt Jemime
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| .left in the Christmas plow
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| I wouldn’t take a dollar from a german now
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| Put the laughter in slaughter and the lie and belief
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| Cause my carbon footprint is six feet deep
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| Its dust to dust to angel lust
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| For ol' Saint Angeline
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| Aunt Jemime
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| Well the lord may condemn me but my baby forgives
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| She’ll meet me inside the final tent I pitch
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| White waterlillies in my funeral spray
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| Showered on my baby like a flower boquet
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| Its dust to dust to angel lust
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| For ol' Saint Angeline
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| Aunt Jemime |