Come to my house an we'll pick bones
   there hands outside ready with stones
   come to my yard
   i got whiskey an chirs
   we'll sit on the porch
   as the good men stare
   you ain't never spoke true
   i shake an angry fist at you
   you are not needed here
   to help me feel low down
   i'm doin' it fine all on my own
   i her you cryin' from cradle to coffin
   an for you there'll be no stoppin'
   i see you lyin' in a pine box with bitter words
   that's how the boy talks