| Well the night was deep and the night was dark
|
| And I was at the old dance-hall on the edge of town
|
| Some big ceremony was going down
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| Dancers writhed and squirmed and then,
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| Came apart and then writhed again
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| Like squirming flies on a pin
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| In the heat and in the din
|
| Yes, in the heat and in the din
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| I fell to thinking about brand new wife of mad John Finn
|
| Well, midnite came and clock did strike
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| And in she came, did John Finn’s wife
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| With legs like scissors and butcher’s knives
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| A tattooed breast and flaming eyes
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| And a crimson carnation in her teeth
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| Carving her way through the dance floor
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| And I’m standing over by the bandstand
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| Every eye gaping on John Finn’s wife
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| Yeah, every eye gaping on John Finn’s wife
|
| Now John Finn’s wife was something of a mystery
|
| In a town where to share a sworn secret was a solemn duty
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| I had brass knuckles and a bolo knife
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| Over near the bandstand with John Finn’s wife
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| She got perfumed breasts and raven hair
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| Sprinkled with wedding confettis
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| And a gang of garrotters were all giving me stares
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| Armed, as they were, with machetes
|
| And the night through the window was full of lights
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| Winking and awatching at John Finns’wife
|
| Winking and awatching at John Finns’wife
|
| Next came the cops, all out on the town
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| But it don’t look like no trouble there
|
| As they head for the bar in their lumpy suits
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| And I slip my hand between the thighs of John Finn’s wife
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| And they seemed to yawn awake, her things
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| It was a warm and very ferocious night
|
| The moon full of blood and light
|
| And my eyes grew small and my eyes grew tight
|
| As I plotted in the ear of John Finns’wife
|
| Enter John Finn in his shrunken suit
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| With his quick black eyes and black cheroot
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| With his filled-down teeth and a hobnail boot
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| And his fists full of pistols in his pockets
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| Aiming at me and aiming at his wife
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| The band fall silent fearing for their lives
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| And with fear in my guts like tangled twine
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| Cause all I got is brass knuckles and a bolo knife
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| And mad John Finns’wife is all
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| And the three of us walk out of the hall
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| Now the night bore down upon us all
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| You could hear the crickets in the thickets call
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| And guns did flare and guns did bawl
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| And I planted my bolo knife in the neck
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| Of mad John Finn. |
| I took his wretched life
|
| Now I’m over near the bandstand
|
| Every hand moving on John Finns’wife
|
| Every hand moving on John Finns’wife
|
| And John Finns’wife
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| Took all the flowers down
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| From her hair
|
| And threw them on the ground
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| And the flies did hum
|
| And the flies did buzz around
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| Poor John Finn
|
| Lying dead upon the ground
|
| Lying dead upon the ground |