mass graves
WRITTEN BY: Jak Locke
VERSIONS:
Dustpan Ballads (2004)
LYRICS
Down home life burnin up in a blink
Only when you're plastered can you start to think
Necromalic child of a filtered life
Living for the cold of an autopsy knife
Who digs your grave Mister Cotton
Son of a biscuit slow hand what you gotten
The soup is cold and all your crops are rotten
Buckshot soda and your three-legged horse is trottin
Fill up your musket with the telephone fuel
Self-effaced totem pole, facetless jewel
Hangin from the rafters with a bat in your hair
Bones in your eyeballs and you wonder why they stare
Who digs your grave Mister Cotton
Son of a biscuit slow hand what you gotten
The soup is cold and all your crops are rotten
Buckshot soda and your three-legged horse is trottin
Mass graves like a K&B pencil
Mass graves your name is next on the stencil