| I’ve been drinking muddy water
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| And it tastes like turpentine
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| I’ve been leaving muddy footprints
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| Up and down the Morgan line
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| Crows are crying all around me
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| In a sky where the sun refuse to shine
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| I’ve been taking scraps from back doors
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| I’ve been hiding in the cane
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| I’ve been fighting over morsels
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| And I’ve been slinking back again
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| I’ve been building up a reputation
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| On the levee, all across the plain
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| No I won’t be your dog
|
| Your low riding dog anymore
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| Now the mangrove sun is sinking
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| And the moon is bloody red
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| Every gun is clean and loaded
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| Lying by a feather bed
|
| Far and wide goes my description
|
| And the price is rising on my head
|
| No I won’t be your dog
|
| Your low riding dog anymore
|
| I’ve been drinking muddy water
|
| I’ve been keeping way down low
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| All I hear is my own breathing
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| All I see is a distant glow
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| All I have is tearing me up
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| Wearing me down, just won’t let me go
|
| No I won’t be your dog
|
| Your low riding dog anymore
|
| No I won’t be your dog
|
| Your skinny little dog anymore |