| Way down in Toxarcana I was ten years old
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| In a fever dream, dark night of the soul
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| Well, it was brillig and the slithey toves
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| I bid the world goodbye by the dead bog oaks
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| Drop down in the swampblood
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| Drop down in the blood
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| I’m washed in the swampblood
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| I’m washed in the blood, aye
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| Well, dusty bibles lead to a dirty south
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| He’s sittin' with a toadstool rottin' in his mouth
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| In the clearin' where the bras hang down from the trees
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| He’s cappin' a coffee can full of teeth
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| Drop down in the swampblood
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| Drop down in the blood
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| I’m washed in the swampblood
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| I’m washed in the blood, yeah
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| Down Doom’s Chapel Road, past his great grandma
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| She says, turn 'em loose or I’ll call the law
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| He says, there’s no testimony without the test
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| What we do with our own is our own damn business
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| Drop down in the swampblood
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| Drop down in the blood
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| I’m washed in the swampblood
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| I’m washed in the blood
|
| Drop down in the swampblood
|
| Drop down in the blood
|
| I’m washed in the swampblood
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| I’m washed in the blood |