| Drinking a cup of alligator blood
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| Tastes like the heads and feet we’d see
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| For sale at the local pawn
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| We’d make necklaces out of
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| I’d wear them 'round my neck
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| I’m a sucker for the love of the flesh
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| All things rancid and delicate
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| But the smell in the summer heat
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| It still gets to me
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| Knee-deep in the poacher’s dream
|
| He dragged that thing out back and he
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| Hung it upside down, slit its belly open
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| And let it bleed out
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| And he held my head and made me watch
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| He filled my mouth up with its blood and said
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| «Grow up weak or grow up tough»
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| Playing in the swamp of alligator blood
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| Behind our house in the marshy lawn
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| He’d always hold my head
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| Under the water a little too long
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| 'Cause he wanted me to be all guts, no glory
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| «All survivor, no guilt,» he said
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| But he calls me his crocodile tears
|
| While I’m chained up to the bed
|
| Knee-deep in the poacher’s dream
|
| He dragged that thing out back and he
|
| Hung it upside down, slit its belly open
|
| And let it bleed out
|
| And he held my head and made me watch
|
| He filled my mouth up with its blood and said
|
| «Grow up weak or grow up tough»
|
| When I was done
|
| Wiped my mouth on his sleeve
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| I fucked the soul of the south but it crucified me |