Where do bad folks go when they die?
 They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
 They go down to the lake of fire and fry
 Won't see them again till the fourth of July
 I knew a lady who came from Duluth
 She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth
 She went to her grave just a little too soon
 And she flew away howling on the yellow moon
 Now the people cry and the people moan
 And they look for a dry place to call their home
 And try to find some place to rest their bones
 While the angels and the devils
 Fight to claim them for their own